Samantha
by Emily McDonald
Summary: The original thirty-one chapters of "Daughter of the Dead", now discontinued and soon to be reworked into another story titled "In the Paradox of Wonderland".
1. Chapter 1: Doctor Lewis Howard

A/N: Okay, so here's the first chapter

_A/N: Okay, so here's the first chapter! It may be a bit confusing at the beginning, but please bear with me. _

_I got this first little tidbit from my own imagination, from a story I thought up but couldn't really develop. _

_The main confusing elements will be 'The Realities'. So, I'll clear it up right now._

_The Real Earth: Follows the movie as it was written, with Leslie dead._

_The Alternate Earth: The 'LDD' world. :) Leslie lives, and has her daughter, Samantha, with Jess._

_So, anyway, I hope you enjoy, even though this first chapter might be confusing. R&R! _

_-Emily_

_PS: I'll be writing the second-to-last chapter of 'Fifteen Sweet Things' in a day or so. :)_

**Chapter 1**

**Doctor Lewis Howard**

Tonight, a strange man named Lewis Howard sits at his computer. He's so close, so close…

POP! The computer dies. Cursing to himself, Howard turns off his desk lamp. Even though his tiny, dirty apartment is pitch black, he knows where to dump his cold coffee, where to find his whiskey bottle, how to find the shot glasses, and the couch, which has its Hide-a-Bed out.

Lewis takes his drink to his bed, and collapses on the soiled, unmade sheets of the Hide-a-Bed. He pours the amber liquid into the glass and swigs. In the act of doing so, his arm hits a manila folder and knocks it to the ground.

Not that he cares.

Right now, Lewis would have burned that folder. That folder…

Though he's only had one drink, Doctor Howard feels as though he's had twenty. He fights the urge to vomit, fights the tears, the memories…

Terabithia.

That's what the boy called it, wasn't it?

Yes.

Terabithia.

He didn't call it Terabithia when he and Maddie Hanson built the fortress in the woods, when they hung the rope, when the felt the magic for the first time. Honestly, he couldn't remember what Maddie had named their kingdom. All he remembered was Maddie.

_Maddie…_

The tears were falling freely as he remembered the first time he met eyes with Madison Karen Hanson.

_Lewis had always been a bit of a loner, head always in advanced mathematics and science textbooks. Everyone had made fun of him, taunted him for not having many friends. Actually, he had NO friends. Not one. _

_Until that day._

_The first day of fifth grade._

_The teacher was reading the instructions off the blackboard when the principal entered, a girl with him. _

_The girl was tall, with curly, fluffy, brown hair and coke-bottle glasses. The girl met Lewis's eye, he held it._

_The girl…she was… it looked like she was…reading him._

_Yes._

_The girl was reading him. Reading him like a book._

_He looked away. But the eyes were still there, challenging him. Yelling at him. 'Let someone know you!' they were saying._

_But he wouldn't give in._

_Never. He wouldn't give in._

"_Miss Tyler, this is Madison Hanson." The Principal spoke up._

"_I like to be called Maddie." _

_Miss Tyler smiled at Maddie. "Very well then, Maddie. I'm afraid we don't have a desk available for you to sit at just yet. Do you mind sitting at mine?"_

"_No Ma'am." Maddie said._

"_I see you're in good hands, Miss Hanson." The Principal said with a smile._

_Maddie smiled back. "I think so too, Principal Turner."_

_He left._

_Lewis finally trusted his eyes to look at this new girl. Thankfully, her eyes were gone. His eyes stayed on her until she sat down. As she sat, however, mountains of books fell from her bag. A few kids chuckled. Maddie's books were science books. _

_Lewis stayed silent._

The scientist was sobbing now.

"Maddie!" He screamed. "I'm sorry!"

Oh yes, he WAS sorry. Very sorry.

You see, dear readers, Maddie Hanson was Lewis's first friend. Ever. They stayed friends until high school. Because, in high school, Maddie and Lewis got in their first fight.

The girl was being offered a full scholarship to a science school in Norwalk. Lewis was angry because he had applied as well, and had not been accepted. They had promised to only go together. They were best friends, after all. But Lewis had not been accepted.

And now Maddie had the mind to go alone.

He was so very hurt by his friend, her words, the words she had said that Friday he could not bear to relive.

And, in the end, she went alone.

Before they made up.

Now, Howard felt remorse. He tried, every year, to get to Maddie. But, she wouldn't talk to him. He figured she was still angry with him for what he said before freshman year began.

Or, that's what he thought.

Before he got the call.

The call the changed him forever.

It was his senior year of high school. Lewis was all packed up, ready to go home to Lark Creek for the Christmas holidays. He was just about to leave his dorm when the phone rang.

It was Maddie's mother, Mrs. Hanson. She was crying.

And poor Mrs. Hanson had every right to cry.

Because, you see, her only daughter was dead.

Lewis couldn't breathe as he listened to the sobbing mother. Maddie had been murdered.

She was on a train, and she noticed one of her classmates from the science school. He was an ex-boyfriend, actually. She stood up to wave, and he killed her. Shot her, right in the chest.

Now, readers, do you know _why_ Maddie was on that train? Do you know where she was going?

Well, I'll tell you where Maddie was going.

She was going to Lark Creek, Virginia, to make up with her old friend, Lewis Howard.

Now, this drove Lewis insane. He thought everything was his fault. He believed that, if he had pushed himself harder in the sciences, he would have been able to go with Maddie to that school, and they wouldn't have fought. She wouldn't have been on that train, looking for him.

She wouldn't be dead.

So he pushed himself, very, very, VERY hard in the sciences. He studied everything, but especially alternate realities. Maybe, just maybe, he could…

Originally, he had been working in a big office in New York City. But recently, something had pulled him back to Lark Creek.

The death of a young girl named Leslie Burke.

Leslie's face had been plastered over every TV station, every newspaper. Her death, it was so…uncommon. She had been swinging on a rope swing, and it broke, sending poor Leslie into the water, where she hit her head, lost consciousness, and drowned. Sick as it may be, Howard was now obsessed with death, especially those of children and young adults. How did it happen? He couldn't help but wonder. So, he packed up his research and headed back to his hometown.

He learned the whereabouts of the Burke place from some loose-lipped old lady in the town. He learned what had happened to Leslie from her, as well as some other interesting pieces of information.

The old Lark Creek Elementary principal had died the previous fall, and now his son, Earnest Turner Junior, was principal.

Young Miss Tyler, his fifth grade teacher, wasn't so young anymore, and was no longer a 'Miss'. She was now Mrs. Gussie Myers, but her husband, Todd, was sick in the hospital.

And when he went to the Burke place, he found Maddie's rope swing broken.

Other children had found Maddie's land. Or was it just Leslie? He didn't know, but something told him it wasn't just Leslie. This was a land for friends. And somebody else must know about the special place in the wood, because, beneath the rope, was a bridge.

Over the bridge was a sign that read: "We Rule Terabithia, And NOTHING Crushes Us!"

So, the new children called it Terabithia. Nice name. He was determined to find Leslie Burke's friend, get whoever it was to tell him about this 'Terabithia'.

Within a few days, Lewis Howard got his wish. On the third day of his stakeout, a boy, about eleven or twelve, came to the bridge with a six year old girl. They spotted him almost immediately, and demanded to know who he was. Grudgingly, Howard explained how he and Maddie had hung the rope, built the fortress, everything.

This story was the key to the boy.

A now drunken Lewis smiled. Jess. Jesse Aarons. Leslie's friend, Terabithia's King.

His key to Leslie Burke.

Fumbling, he found the folder. Inside, there were clippings from scientific journals, and other information on alternate realities. But right now, that wasn't important. What was important was the notes he had taken from memory, notes about Leslie, her death, and Terabithia from that Jess Aarons kid. You see, Jesse's grief was still fresh, and learning about the origin of "His Kingdom" was rather healing, but he couldn't help but mention Leslie and how they found it.

The notes he knew by heart. Tonight, he was looking for a picture. A picture he had created. Finally he found it. Pulling it close to his face, he smiled.

Though the apartment was still dark, he knew what the picture was of. On the right side, there was a picture of Maddie. And taped to Maddie's photograph, was a picture of none other than:

Jess Aarons and Leslie Burke.

Lewis smiled sickly.

"Thank you Aarons." He slurred. "Thank you."

_A/N: So! What did you think? I know this probably doesn't make much sense now, but it will, promise. We'll focus on Howard's invention next chapter, and then it'll get good. Review! :)_


	2. Chapter 2: The Invention

A/N: Wow, thanks for the reviews, you guys

_A/N: Wow, thanks for the reviews, you guys! Love ya! :) Anyway, this chapter is short; it's Doctor Howard's invention, and the birthing of "The Alternate Earth". Since I know this is NOT possible in the real world, and I don't like math and science like Lewis Howard, so the building of his "Universe Creator" will not be very detailed. Enjoy! (Oh, I am basically making up most of the scientific facts. So you know._

_-Smiles-)_

**Chapter 2**

**The Invention**

Lewis had returned to New York. Jess was beginning to get suspicious, and he couldn't have that.

_Not that it matters. _He couldn't help but think as he surfed the Net for information on black holes. Suddenly, a page on the Google browser caught his eye.

**ALTERNATE REALITIES: The science of Black Holes**

Feeling giddy, he clicked the link. A recently added article for the New England Scientific Journal popped up.

**Black Holes and Their Powers**

**By Adam Anderson**

**It has been rumored that Black Holes have special powers that can change the world as we know it. Several filmmakers such as Stephen Spielberg have embraced this possibility…**

_Blah-blah-blah. I don't care about Spielberg! Where are the facts, man?! I NEED THE FACTS!_

Scrolling down a bit, an impatient doctor Howard finally found what he was looking for.

**What most people DON'T realize though is that alternate realities due to black holes ARE possible. Though it has only been attempted once, by accident, in the late 1960's, modern science has shown that this amazing and slightly alarming experiment is possible…**

Yes.

Yes.

YES!

He had it! He had it! Finally, he could have Maddie back! His Maddie, Maddie Hanson. He could have the life he was denied. _She _could have the life she had been denied. Sure, everyone might think he was dead, here, in this reality, but did it really matter?

No.

No, he decided. _Nothing _other than his experiment mattered. If he did it right, she would be back.

_**MEANWHILE…**_

A now thirteen year old Jesse Aarons climbed off the bus with his little sisters, Maybelle and Joyce Ann. Or rather, he got off with his sisters, and their best friends, Alexandra and Billy-Jean. Though he did not want it to be there, Jess experienced a wave of jealousy and sadness. Those girls didn't even know how lucky they were…

Suddenly, he was alone. The girls had skipped ahead, leaving him in the dust, the powdery sediment on his face reminding him very much of the time he raced Leslie down the road, the road where they had found the rope.

Maddie Hanson's rope.

Jess shook his head. That seemed unreal to him, like a dream you knew could never come true, very much like his reaction when his father told him Leslie was dead. It seemed illogical to know that somebody had built the tree house, hung the rope. He knew someone had of course, in the back of his mind, but in the forefront…

It seemed to him that _Leslie _had hung the rope, that _Leslie _had built the tree house. It seemed like she could do that kind of thing with her mind, her imagination.

An oddly cool wind blew across Jess's face, snapping him out of his reverie. Something, he wasn't entirely sure, but something, made him think about that Lewis Howard man he and Maybelle had met a few days ago. The one who had been friends with Maddie.

Something made him shiver. That man, he seemed…dirty. Sneaky, slimy, like he had a hidden agenda. Why was he so curious of Leslie's death, even the exact date and place? And where was he, anyway? For a few days he had stuck around Terabithia like glue, and now…now he had vanished.

And though he tried to ignore it as he walked slowly towards his house, there was a pit in Jess's stomach that told him something big was about to happen.

_**IN NEW YORK CITY…**_

It's late. Almost midnight. But he can't stop working. He just can't. He's very close, you see. Very close indeed. Doctor Howard consults the New England Scientific Journal.

**To finish creating your wormhole, simply attach the cannon wire to the front proto-plasma port and wait for the vortex.**

Okay. He could do that.

_Click. _He attached the wire. Twenty seconds pass. And suddenly, the lights dim. The wind begins. The purple begins to swirl…

The vortex has been made.

Lewis smiled sickly.

It was his ballgame now.

The only remaining piece was to add Maddie's picture, as well as his own, which would trigger what reality to create. Fighting the wind, he stumbled forward, towards where the picture was. He un-taped the two photographs and headed back towards the vortex, tossing in the first picture, the picture in his right hand.

Maddie's photo.

Or so he thinks.

Because readers, Lewis has NOT thrown Maddie's picture into the vortex. He made a mistake. He realizes this in horror as he looks down at the remaining picture, ready to smirk and Jess and Leslie.

Do you know who is in his hand, readers?

It is Maddie.

Yes, you read it correctly.

Lewis is looking at Maddie.

The picture of Jess and Leslie has been thrown into the vortex.

He made a mistake.

A mistake he can not fix. He begins to sob. The one he wants to live will never, there is only one vortex allowed every fifty years.

Leslie Burke will be given the gift meant for Madison Hanson.

Do you know what that gift is?

Life.

Leslie Burke will be given the gift of life. And Jess Aarons and his family will be with her, because he was in the picture.

They will get what he wants.

Sobbing, he staggers across the room, for his pistol. If he can not be with her alive, he will be with her in death.

_**LARK CREEK, VIRGINA**_

BANG!

Jess woke with a start. What was that? Could another raccoon be caught in the trap in the greenhouse? Maybe, but it didn't sound like it. It sounded louder, more forceful.

Like a gun.

Who would be firing a gun at midnight, though? Jesse doesn't know. He decided to see for himself.

He went to his window and opened it. Nothing in sight, no noise.

Wait, is that…thunder?

Yes, and lightning too. He glances at the sky. It looks…

Purple.

Yes, the sky looks purple.

As he watches the sky, he can't help but think it looks like something he watched in a science fiction movie. What was it called again?

Oh, he remembers.

The thing was called a vortex.

The purple sky looks like a vortex.

He only has a second to ponder it, however, before he gets a shooting pain in his stomach. He falls to the ground, screaming in pain. However, no one can hear him. No one can hear him scream as it feels like someone is ripping him in two.

Because time itself has stopped.

Only Jesse is moving, he is feeling this pain, because he is being ripped in half. Quite literally.

After all, one half of him has to go to that alternate reality.

_A/N: Tada! Review! Also, I need to make a comment on the last chapter. I hope the whole thing of Miss Tyler being Mrs. Myers and there being another Principal Turner isn't too confusing. I just thought it'd be neat. Also, I know in the movie, Mrs. Myer's husband is dead, but I just couldn't bring myself. After all, Leslie is dead, and Maddie, and the first principal Turner…_

_So, I hope you like this chapter. The next few will be switching between realities._


	3. Chapter 3: The Alternate Earth

A/N: Thanks a million for the reviews

_A/N: Thanks a million for the reviews. Awesome! Glad you like my story. Anyway, I planned it out; it should be around 40 chapters! :) Enjoy this chapter. It's short, just a little "LDD World" hunk I wanted to do. _

**Chapter 3**

**The Alternate Earth**

Thirty year old Jesse Aarons couldn't sleep. He was being riddled with dreams of his childhood, of the day Leslie nearly died. Sighing, he rolled over to look at his sleeping wife, the very same Leslie, his best friend of so many years, his well… everything.

Tired of waiting for sleep to come, he decided to get out of bed and go work on that family portrait he was drawing for his Dad's funeral. Unfortunately for Jess, Leslie was a very light sleeper, and felt it instantly.

"Where you going?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Downstairs to work on that portrait. Can't sleep."

"…Jess…" She whined, propping herself up, carefully balancing her very swollen stomach.

"Leslie…" He knew where she was going.

"Please, I'm begging you. Sleep one night, solidly, please, Jess. You've gotten up every night for the past two weeks to work on that thing. The baby will be born soon too and…"

"You want me to have my energy so when you wake up at three thirty in the morning to have it I can be of help, right?"

She laughed lightly, and he sat down on his edge of the bed.

"That's a very good reason, but I was going to say it needed someone on the other side to keep it warm."

He laughed, but obliged, climbing back under the covers. "Les, that won't help little Samantha, and you know it."

She arched an eyebrow. "Samantha? We don't know if it's a boy or a girl. You would name your son Samantha?"

"No! I just have a feeling that it's going to be a little girl, you know? And Samantha starts with an _**S**_, just like Sophia, your middle name and…"

"Okay, Jess! Though I'll bet you're right, you are good with knowing about things." Leslie turned out the light, and for a while, they were silent, remembering the day he saved her from the jaws of death.

_**FLASHBACK**_

_Jess was climbing in the car to go to the museum with Ms. Edmunds, his music teacher. An eerie feeling washed over him, like something bad was about to happen._

_To Leslie._

_He had a feeling something bad was going to happen to Leslie._

_Jess couldn't help but stare at Leslie's house, fixated by his sudden feeling._

"_Forget something?" The teacher asked, noticing his blank stare._

"_Ah, um, I uh…" He had the mind to say no, but as he watched the old station wagon drive farther away from his friend, his conscience made the decision for him._

"_Yes! Yes, I forgot something!" He cried, suddenly feeling pained._

_Blue eyes wide, a look of concern painted on her face, Ms. Edmunds only nodded and turned around. He jumped out before the car was fully stopped, not even bothering to knock on the Burkes front door. Something in his gut told him Leslie would be in the forest._

_She would be in Terabithia._

_Racing down the path, he found her, standing on the log, ready to swing._

"_Leslie!" He half shouted, panting._

_She turned to him with a pretty smile on her face. "There you are, dopey." She teased sweetly. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."_

"_Leslie, Leslie, stop, please, please get down. Get down, please." He panted, bending over in pain, sides heaving._

_Leslie, however, saw no danger in her friend's warnings. "What, can't you say anything once?"_

"_Les, I'm serious! Something bad is about to happen, I can feel it!" _

_The smile faded. "It's just the Dark Master, Jess." She said, halfheartedly. "We can beat him. We always do, O King of Terabithia."_

"_It's the rope. I don't trust it." He didn't know why he was saying this; he just felt he had to._

"_Jesse, what is your problem today? The rope's fine alright? It's held us millions of times, __**nothings **__going to go wrong. I promise."_

"_Leslie, DON'T!" He ordered, tears of terror and utter hopelessness filling his eyes._

"_Big baby." The blonde scoffed. She was annoyed, he could tell. "Why are you so freaked out today, anyway? The rope's not gonna hurt anybody Jess, and you know it."_

"_GET DOWN!" He was nearly screaming, and he couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Burke or Ms. Edmunds or Maybelle could hear him._

"_NO!" She said with the same force._

"_LESLIE, DO IT, PLEASE!"_

"_JESS, RELAX! Why don't you trust me, anyway? I'm going to be fine. Here, I'll show you."_

"_Lesl…" But it was too late. She swung. Mid-swing, there was a deathly __**SNAP**__. Leslie screamed as she flipped through the air, Jess started crying._

"_**LESLIE!**__" He screamed, running towards the water's edge._

_She managed one short sentence._

"_JESS! __**HELP ME!"**_

_Then she was gone._

_Without one second's hesitation, he followed her to a certain death._

_**END FLASHBACK**_

"I _wasn't _fine." Leslie whispered. "If it weren't for you, I might've…"

"Shh…" Jess said, gently running a finger over the scar on her forehead. "Go to sleep. The stress isn't good for Samantha."

She chuckled halfheartedly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Goodnight."

"Night."

While Leslie was trying to sleep, Jess was thinking. After a few seconds, he spoke.

"How does Princess Samantha of Terabithia sound?"

"Perfect. Now go to bed."

Leslie was almost asleep when he spoke again.

"It's your birthday tomorrow. We'll be the same age then." Jess whispered softly.

"Hmmhm."

A few more minutes passed, Leslie's breathing evened.

"We'll have another birthday soon." He said softly. No answer from Leslie. She was asleep.

He laid his hand on Leslie's swollen belly. It amazed him to think that his baby, a person, that would grow up to do something wonderful in the world, was inside of his Leslie.

"You'll have a great Momma." He whispered, rubbing the round stomach.

He felt it kick. Leslie stirred, but she didn't wake.

As he lay down, he pressed a gentle kiss to the baby's womb, then the mother's forehead.

"Goodnight Princess Samantha." He said. "See you soon."

_A/N: Aww, CUTENESS! :) Anyway, the next chapter will be the thirteen year old Jess in "The Real Earth" (The one where Leslie is dead) is honoring her on her thirteenth birthday. Or it would be, if she were alive…there, that is. Did that make any sense? Review please!_


	4. Chapter 4: Tragic Anniversary

A/N: Thanks for the reviews

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I love them. Anyway, I know I said in the last chapter that this would be Jess on "The Real Earth" celebrating Leslie's birthday, but I rearranged some things in my plot line, so this is now the anniversary of Leslie's death. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 4**

**Tragic Anniversary**

_**THE REAL EARTH**_

Jess woke slowly. The light was pouring in through the windows, and instantly he knew it wasn't six AM. It was more like eight or nine. But why would his parents let him sleep in? Rolling over, he saw the miniature photo of Leslie on his night-table. And then he remembered.

It was November the twelfth.

Leslie would be thirteen today.

She had died on her eleventh birthday.

As of today, Leslie Burke had been dead for three years.

He did some mental math. Ms. Edmunds had invited him to the museum on a Saturday, so it was a Tuesday today. His Mom must have convinced his Dad to let him stay home from school.

_Why didn't you invite her, you idiot? Ms. Edmunds liked Leslie. She wouldn't have minded her coming along. But YOU did._

Sighing, he saw Maybelle's bed empty. She had gone to school. He was alone. Climbing out of bed, he picked up the small miniature of Leslie. He guessed it was her school photo from when they lived in Arlington. Bill had given it to him they day he and Judy took Prince Terrian and moved back to the city. She was so happy there, smiling, blue-green eyes bright.

_Probably thinking up some wonderful story. Maybe even the story of Terabithia._

Flipping the frame over, he un-did the clasps and extracted the picture. Folding it in half, he held it as he got dressed, then shoving it into his jeans pocket.

He needed her today.

Heading downstairs, he found his mother flipping pancakes in a griddle. All of his sisters, even Joyce Ann, (who was now in pre-school) were gone, and his father was nowhere in sight.

"Hey Momma." He said, plunking down in the chair.

Mary smiled at him. "Good morning Jess. I made some pancakes and cocoa."

He tried to smile, but found feigned joy impossible. He knew she was trying to be nice, but he just couldn't take it.

"Thanks Mom." He said dryly, desperately hoping his mother wouldn't think he was sassing her. Fortunately for him, Mary remembered what day it was too. She smiled sympathetically.

"Anything for you, sweetie."

The only noises in the kitchen were Mrs. Aarons getting out plates and cups from the cabinet. Jess watched as she placed two pancakes on a plate, covering them in maple syrup. Then she selected one and put it on the plate, with blueberries in the place of syrup. After filling two coffee mugs with cocoa, she came over.

"Eat up, honey." She said, placing the syrupy pancakes and one cocoa mug in front of him. She took the other dishes and sat down across from her only son.

After a few bites, Jesse spoke.

"You know what day it is, don't you? That's why you convinced Dad to let me stay home from school, and why you let me sleep in, and why you made pancakes. You think I haven't forgotten Leslie."

Mary's hand paused mid-air, he cocoa mug inches from her mouth. Her son's eyes were fixated on her face, his expression grave and serious. Placing down the mug, she looked at him for a few seconds. His face was unreadable, and it would probably stay that way for the next week, give or take a few days. Sighing, she looked down, allowing her hands to play with the frayed ends of the red checkered table cloth. Suddenly the kitchen seemed like a tomb, and she couldn't help but remember that day when she thought her son was dead.

_**FLASHBACK**_

_Mary had woken up at eight that morning. Brenda and Ellie were fighting, as usual, and Maybelle was playing with Joycie. Jack had gone to work, everything seemed normal._

_But something wasn't._

"_Where's Jess?" Whether she was asking her daughters or the air, even she wasn't sure._

"_Probably with his girlfriend, Leslie." Brenda said snottily, before returning to the television._

"_I think he went to the art museum with his teacher." Maybelle piped up. _

_Shrugging, Mary decided to embrace the possibilities that both Brenda and Maybelle presented._

_Until she got the call. _

_It was about noon. The phone was ringing. She went to answer it. _

"_Hello?"_

"_Mary Aarons?" it was a woman's voice, one she didn't recognize. It sounded like she was crying, or rather, trying to hide the fact that she was. Other people were speaking in the background._

"_Yes…?"_

"_Is Jesse home?"_

_Mary frowned. What did this woman want with her son?_

"_Not at the moment. He's either out with his teacher, or with his friend Leslie."_

_At Leslie's name, the woman screamed, and the phone was dropped. Sobbing could be heard. _

"_Bill!" The woman sobbed. "He's with her! He's with Leslie!"_

_There was talking, and sobbing. She would've hung up, but she was paralyzed with fear._

_Suddenly the phone was lifted from the floor._

"_Mary Aarons?" It was a man's voice._

"_Yes?" Her voice felt thick._

"_This is Officer Victor Cummings, with the Lark Creek Police Department. Mrs. Burke has informed us that your son, Jesse, is friends with their daughter, Leslie. Is that correct?"_

"_Yes officer, it is." Her daughters were looking at her, she could feel it._

"_Well, Ma'am, I'm afraid I have some bad news."_

"_You do?"_

"_Leslie Burke died this morning."_

"_WHAT?!"_

"_She was found dead in a creek in the woods behind your house. It's a theory that she was swinging on a rope, trying to get across. It broke. It's probable that she hit her head."_

"_And Jess?"_

"_Well Ma'am, if your son was with Leslie, we haven't found him. He could've swung across before her, or he could've been behind her. He could've tried to save her, you know, jumped in after her… If that is the case, Mrs. Aarons, I'm very sorry to tell you this, but…"_

_Silence._

"_Officer Cummings?" Her voice was barely a whisper._

"_Mrs. Aarons, if Jesse tried to save her, there is a very high possibility that…that…he too has…has…Mrs. Aarons, I'm sorry, but unless you find your son somewhere else, it is most definitely possible that he has shared Leslie's fate."_

"_You can't mean…"_

"_Yes, Ma'am, that is EXACTLY what I mean. But please, don't loose hope. We don't have a body; we only have the girl's, so there is a chance he wasn't with her."_

_It was too late. Mary burst into tears, disconnecting the call._

_She needed to get in touch with her husband._

_**END FLASHBACK**_

"Mom?" The voice of her son snapped the poor woman out of her memory.

"I do remember that day, Jess." Mary looked up, tears threatening her eyes. "That was the day I thought I lost my baby boy."

"Do you think just because I cried with Dad that I've forgotten Leslie?" His expression was still unreadable.

"…Jesse…" She sighed, and let one tear fall. "I will never expect you to forget Leslie. And you shouldn't either. She was a very important season in your life, she taught you, no, she taught us _all _a very important lesson. She was your best friend. No matter how hard you try, Jess, you will never forget your best friend. No matter how hard you try, you will always grieve mildly for her. But it will heal you. Her memory will heal you."

He smiled lightly, but the expression on Jess's face was clearly pained. "This isn't healing me Mom." He said. "It's just hurting me." Tears filled his eyes. "I miss her so much!"

Mary burst into tears. Rising from her seat, she ran to him, enfolding him in a hug.

"Why wasn't I there, Mom? Why didn't I bring her? Why didn't she wait for me to be there, so I could save her?" Poor Jess was crying too.

As for Mary, she couldn't say anything. She just kept her arms around her son and cried for him.

**A/N: Okay, I cried while I was writing this. I felt so bad for Jess and Mary and Leslie! Unfortunately, it's necessary. The next chapter will be happier, promise. Review!**


	5. Chapter 5: The Birth of An Angel

A/N: Time for chapter 5

_A/N: Time for chapter 5! Anyway, so sorry about the sad chapter, but it is necessary, and you'll begin to figure it out in this chapter. See if you can figure it out before the end of chapter 5! (This takes place in the "Alternate Earth")_

**Chapter 5**

**The Birth of an Angel**

_**THE ALTERNATE EARTH**_

Jesse was having a very disturbing dream. In his dream, Leslie had died, and he was mourning on the anniversary of her death. His mother was with him, telling him about the phone call she had recived notifying her of Leslie's death, and how she thought he had died too.

"_I wasn't there to go with her. Why didn't I take her, Mom? Why didn't she wait so I could save her?"_

That's where he was in his dream. Moaning, he rolled over. Suddenly, he heard Leslie's voice.

"Jess, wake up."

"Hmm, no…"

Leslie spoke again. His dream-self was very confused. Leslie was dead, right? She drowned. She had been dead for three years. But yet, she was speaking, telling him to wake up.

"Jess, _wake up!_"

"Mmm…" He rolled over again. A sigh from Leslie entered his dream.

"Jesse!" _Smack. _"Wake!" _Smack. _"Up!" _Smack. _

Okay, he was mildly awake now. And Leslie wasn't dead. She was alive and she was…hitting him?

"Hmm, what?" He said groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"I told you! WAKE UP!" _**Smack! **_

So, she was hitting him with a pillow. Okay, he understood now. He had to wake up.

"I'm up, I'm up." He mumbled crankily, sitting up.

"Jess, it's time." Leslie said.

Now, if he was fully awake, he would've understood what she was saying, what it meant. But he didn't.

"Time? Time for what? Time for me to go back to sleep?"

Since this was Leslie, she attacked the situation with sarcasm, a very typical "Leslie-Like" response.

"No, dopey!" She cried, smacking him again. "It's time for me to have the baby."

He stared at her, eyes wide. "Now?" He squeaked.

"Yes, now. I wouldn't do this as a joke, you know." She replied, a half grin on her face.

"It's three in the morning!"

"So, you were right about me having the baby at three in the morning. That doesn't stop it from coming out!"

"Oh…right! Let's go, then."

_**THE REAL EARTH**_

Jess was having a very strange dream. In his dream, Leslie was alive. She looked about thirty or so, and she was having a baby. And from the looks of it, it was a brunette baby girl.

_**THE ALTERNATE EARTH**_

"Congratulations, Mrs. And Mr. Aarons. You are now the proud parents of a little baby girl." And, handing Leslie a small bundle wrapped in pink, the nurse left.

"Oh." Leslie whispered in amazement as she stared at her daughter. She was pinker than the blanket, squeaking in tiredness. She looked more like Jess, with dark hair and eyes, but according to the father, she had Leslie's nose and facial structure.

"She has just the right amount of fingers and toes, I counted." Leslie said in a hushed voice. Jess smiled at them both.

"What should we call her?" Leslie asked, though her eyes didn't leave her newborn's face.

"How about… Samantha Lydia Aarons?"

"Beautiful. But why Lydia?"

"Well, Lydia is my grandmother's name, and Leslie and Lydia both start with an _**L**_…"

"That's it then." Leslie said, still in awe at her baby.

"Welcome to the world, princess."

_**THE REAL EARTH**_

Five minutes later, Maybelle had to wave her screaming brother. He was crying and screaming and sweating and thrashing like he did after Leslie died. He hadn't done it in two years.

The scary thing for Maybelle?

He was yelling for a little baby girl named Samantha.

Leslie's baby.

_A/N: Okay, admit it. That was the worst chapter I've written so far. Sorry it took me so long to post this, too. For whatever reason I got really discouraged and almost deleted this story…_

_So, did you figure it out? Both the child and grown Jess are having dreams of what is happening to themselves… Next chapter up soon!_


	6. Chapter 6: The Thing That Went Wrong

A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers

_A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers! Sorry it's taken me longer than usual to update. I've been busy with life, as well as working out the kinks in this plot and planning my next story!_

_I saw "Prince Caspian" on Saturday and loved it. Did anyone else notice the Christian base? It got me wanting to write a C.S. Lewis fic on the side. I hated the fact that Peter and Susan will not be returning to Narnia…Do you think I should write a fic about them staying in Narnia until they "Grow Up" like they did in the first movie? Tell me if you think I should!_

_Anyway, enough rambling. Time for this chapter! Which is probably quite short, sorry?_

**Chapter 6**

**The Thing That Went Wrong**

As you can imagine, an alternate reality creator is quite complex. So complex, in fact, that it needs to be watched constantly, and have extreme amounts of tuning-up done to it on a regular basis.

Why, you ask? I'll tell you why.

If not tuned up regularly, or monitored, things start to go wrong. Very, very, VERY wrong. What might they be, you ask?

As it has been explained, when a reality is created, a new "World" is born. So, for the person that the reality has been made for exists in two worlds. (New England Scientific Journal author Adam Anderson refers to them as "The Real Earth" and "The Alternate Earth".)

One of the bad things is that people in both realities start to have visions of their "Alternate Selves". So, in other words, the person on "The Real Earth" will begin dreaming of their "Clone" that exists in the alternate reality. They'll dream what is happening to themselves and likewise for the person in the alternate reality.

A machine as large as this also makes quite a disturbance in the Space-Time-Continuum. (Then again, how does a large machine making a new reality _not _disrupt _anything? _Simple logic, really, my dear readers.) Due to the problems in the Space-Time-Continuum, strange things can begin to happen.

People in both realities (Most often the alternate one) will age at alarming rates, causing the other earth (Most often the original one, as it is more stable.) to stop entirely. (In other words, one reality moves twice as fast as it normally would, as it has the time frame of both itself and the other world.)

For example, if a person in the real world was, say, thirteen or fourteen years old. And his "Clone-Self" was around, oh, say thirty. And say the "Clone" had a baby girl. What if the real world stopped for six minutes one evening? Suddenly, the baby is six months old. (Naturally, the off-spring is affected, even if it is the off-spring of an alternate being.)

A week passes, and of course, nobody knows the earth has stopped before. And then, one night, it stops again, this time for twenty four minutes. Now the baby is two years and six months old. Two months pass before the earth stops again. This time it stops for six minutes again, making the baby three years of age.

The next week, the earth stops for forty eight minutes, hence making the baby eight years old.

Now, it is horribly hazardous to the Space-Time-Continuum to allow such frequent stopping in time. But what if, dear readers, the builder hadn't told anyone he had built this machine? What if he didn't read the caution article at the bottom of the web page in fine print that told him of these dangers?

What if, he committed suicide the evening he made his machine?

Do you know who I am talking about, now?

But of course! What a silly question. You've read previous chapters, haven't you?

Of course you have.

As you have probably guessed, many stalls in time has to do something the Space-Time-Continuum. And you are right.

It makes many tears in the barrier between worlds, each one slightly larger than the next.

And everyone knows something can only be torn so much until it disintegrates into nothingness.

_A/N: Okay, not as short as I thought it would be, but not as long as some of my other chapters. Maybe this shed some light on some things, maybe it didn't. Either way, that's okay, because you're not supposed to understand EVERYTHING just yet…I like being "Evil"! :) Please review!_


	7. Chapter 7: Family History

A/N: Thanks for the reviews you guys, I love them

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews you guys, I love them! I hope you like this chapter; it may or may not clear up some of the suspense from chapter 7. This is supposed to be a rather suspenseful story, and apparently most of my readers think I am hitting that genre on the nose. :) Enjoy this chapter, my wonderful readers! (Most of this, if not all, takes place in the "Alternate Earth")_

**Chapter 7**

**Family History**

_**THE ALTERNATE EARTH**_

"Daddy, I'm ready for bed!" Eight year old Samantha Aarons yelled downstairs. It was eight thirty, Samantha's bedtime, and she had already completed almost all of her bedtime routine. She had brushed her teeth and combed out her hair, put on her pajamas, and now she was waiting for her father to come to do her mother's job.

Sighing, she sat down on her bed, running her fingers through her hair. Her father always said that her dark hair was the only thing that linked her to him and his family. She had her mother's face, her blue-green eyes, her tomboyish attitude, and, most of all, her imagination. Before her Grandpa Bill died, he had called her imagination the eighth wonder of the world.

Grandpa Bill.

She sighed again and pulled her feet up onto the bed. She missed Grandpa Bill. He was her Mom's father, the only grandparent she knew besides her Grandma Judy, who had become more distant since her husband had died the previous year. She had dropped her married name and resumed teaching first grade, like she had before Samantha's mother was born. She used the name Miss Parkington when she taught. (Parkington was her maiden name.)

Samantha wondered what her father's family would think of her. She had never met any of her Dad's family besides his Mom. His father, Jack Aarons, had died before she was born. His mother, Mary, went a bit crazy. She began tearing Samantha down at great lengths, abusing her innocence and manipulating her. Mary became angry very easily, particularly whenever anyone tried to tell her she was wrong. (Jesse guessed it was because his father had always domineered over her when the children were growing up.)

Though Samantha had only been six at the time, she begged her father to discontinue the relationship with her Grandmother. He obliged.

That was the end of interacting with the rest of the Aarons family. Joyce Ann, her father's youngest sister, had become a bit of a push-over under her mother's harshness, and abandoned her brother and his family.

Brenda, the second eldest, had completely ruined her life. She was living alone in New York City with her five young children. (All of which had a different father.) Eventually she stopped being able to care for all those children by herself, and was forced to move back to Lark Creek, Virginia, to live with her mother and Joyce Ann in the small house she had grown up in. Despite the fact that she had never been close to her brother and sister-in-law, Leslie, she tried to send a card on her niece's birthday, even though she had never laid eyes on the girl. However, at the risk of angering her mother, she stopped the birthday cards. (She was afraid her mother would put her and her children on the street if she even mentioned Jess, Leslie, or their daughter.)

Ellie, the oldest, had become an actress. Following the path that many actresses do, she ended up in prison for DUI while coming back from a Hollywood premiere party. Before that even happened, she became so wrapped up in herself that she didn't even have the courtesy to come to Leslie's baby shower, or invite the family to her wedding. (Not that it mattered, the marriage only lasted six months before a tabloid uncovered that Ellie was pregnant with the child of a man she had been running around with.) After many incidents following that genre, Samantha's parents decided it was best not to expose their little girl to Ellie's poisonous influence.

Maybelle was the only one that was never spoken about at all. Samantha was lucky she had even heard her aunt's name at all. Something had happened after Jack Aarons's death that caused her father and Maybelle to quarrel. The little girl had over-heard her mother on the phone with Judy, saying that she didn't even know where Maybelle lived anymore. They hadn't spoken in seven or eight years.

Samantha heaved another sigh as her Dad entered the room, lying back on her pillows.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" He asked gently, sitting down on the edge of his daughter's bed.

"Why did Mommy leave, Dad?" She asked. The question came out rather half-baked though, as it was a filler for the question she had wanted to ask for almost three years.

Her father, however, did not notice this. "Oh, Sam, your Mom's not gone for good. Just for tonight, while she visits Grandma Judy in Arlington."

"Why does Arlington have to be so far away from Williamsburg?"

Jesse chuckled lightly. "That's one question I can't answer, princess."

"Why does Mom always go to visit Grandma, anyway?"

"Aren't we full of questions tonight, Miss Samantha?"

"Daddy, please."

Cocking his head slightly, he answered. "Your Mom goes to visit Grandma so she doesn't get lonely."

"Why would she get lonely?" Samantha asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

Jesse sighed. "You're Grandma's been pretty lonely since Grandpa Bill died last year, honey. You know that."

She turned away from her Dad. She mumbled something he had to strain to hear.

"If she's so lonely, how come she only ever sees Momma? How come she doesn't come visit me and you anymore? She doesn't love us."

"Oh, Sammy… She loves us. She loves _you_. I'm sure of it. It's just…she's just…what's happening is…"

"Daddy, you're bad at this." Samantha said in such a straightforward, almost sarcastic way, that her father had to laugh. That was so much like Leslie!

"I know, sweetie. What I'm trying to say is…" He sighed again.

"Dad, _please_. I really wanna know what you're gonna say."

"Okay, okay, Sam. I'll tell you. Your Grandma Judy is grieving really bad for your Grandpa. She just feels closer to your Mom because she's your Grandpa's daughter. Does that make sense?"

"I guess. But what does 'Grieving' mean?"

"Grieving means that you're missing someone who has died."

"So we're grieving for Grandpa Bill right now?"

"Yeah, princess, we are."

"How long does it take Daddy?"

"It's different for everyone missy. But if you ever need to talk, about anything, your Mom and I are here for you, no matter what."

"Really? I can talk to you about anything?"

"Of course."

"Can we…can we…" She tried to ask the question she had been struggling with for three years.

"Sam, you're bad at this." He teased, causing her to giggle.

"Can we talk about what happened with you and aunt Maybelle, Dad? What about Grandpa Jack and Grandma Mary? Or Aunt Joyce Ann and aunt Ellie and Aunt Brenda? Do I have cousins, Daddy? I wanna know about your family."

Jesse sighed yet again. He ran his thumb over his daughter's hairline, a strand of the dark hair that was native to the Aarons family coming back with his hand.

"They're your family too, Samantha, no matter what they say." He whispered incoherently.

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing. It's nothing." He assured his daughter quickly. "How about that story now, huh Sammy? Your Momma wouldn't like me filling your head with all this seriousness before bed."

It was Samantha's turn to sigh. "No Dad, it's okay. You can't tell stories like Mom. No offense." She added quickly.

Jesse chuckled half-heartedly. "We all know that's true. Nobody can tell stories like your mother. Or you, for that matter."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks Daddy."

"It's the truth, Sam. Now go to sleep. We don't want your Mom thinkin' I let you stay up too late while she's in Arlington."

"Okay. Night, Dad."

"Goodnight, princess. Love you."

"Love you too."

He kissed her forehead and turned off the light. Rolling over, miss Samantha Aarons closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

We can all agree, though, that it is very hard to sleep when an extremely important question is left unanswered.

_A/N: I hope you liked that chapter, dear readers! I'm sorry if it seemed mildly depressing, but that family history is quite important. _

_As some of you may have noticed, I changed Jess's relationship with his sisters quite a bit from what I usually do. Usually, only Brenda turns out poorly, and while Jess may not be close to Ellie, she turns out okay. Joyce Ann and Jesse stay close, and Maybelle is ALWAYS in her brother's life, and they end up close, regardless if Leslie dies or not._

_Whatever could have happened between the two? :) Review, please! _


	8. Chapter 8: Discussions

A/N: This chapter is VERY short, but important a bit later

_A/N: This chapter is VERY short, but important a bit later. :) (Solid "Alternate Earth")_

_I have quite a bit of chatting to do here. :)_

_For those of you who are confused…Samantha addresses her grandparents with either "Grandma" or "Grandpa" in front of their first name. So she calls Leslie's mother Grandma Judy. Bill died one year before, and Judy Burke has adapted her maiden name. She is now Judy Burke-Parkington, or Ms. Parkington._

_Jack Aarons, (Jesse's dad) died before Samantha was born. They are not speaking to any of Jesse's sisters or his Mom, Mary, because of the way Mary treated Samantha. _

_Hope that helps! Also, in case anyone doesn't know what DUI stands for, (Ellie was arrested for it) it means Driving Under Influence. In other words, Ellie got arrested for drunk driving. _

**Chapter 8**

**Discussions**

_**THE ALTENATE EARTH**_

"I'm home!" Mrs. Leslie Aarons yelled into her house. It was nine AM the next morning, and she had returned from Arlington.

Silence greeted her.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hi Les! Glad you're home. I was in the kitchen." Jesse greeted her with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"You? In the kitchen? Okay, what broke and/or caught on fire, and did you injure Samantha in the process?"

He laughed. "Nothing broke or caught on fire. And Sammy is still asleep. And no, she's not sick or hurt. She was up late last night finishing _Prince Caspian _because she said I couldn't tell a bedtime story like you."

"Well, my smart girl!" Leslie laughed as Jess lead her into the kitchen.

"So, how was your Mom?" Jess asked as they both sat down for coffee.

Leslie sighed. "She's…okay. She's really missing Sammy."

"Sam's missing her too. A lot."

His wife cocked her head.

"She talked to me last night. She wanted to know about Dad, and she can't remember what happened with Momma, and Joyce Ann, and Brenda, and Ellie, and…"

"Maybelle?"

"Yeah." He said hoarsely.

"Jess, I know you want to keep Sam from your family after what happened with Mary, but maybe Maybelle would be good for her, you know? Some more family, now that Daddy's gone…" She gave a small squeak.

"Oh, Les…" He said softly, getting up to hug her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

"It's okay." She said after a minute. "I'm okay, really."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm really sure."

"Okay, then." He released her and sat back down.

"So, our anniversary is next week." Leslie commented.

"Twelve years…what do you want to do?"

"Well, I was thinking we could go to Terabithia. And Sam could stay with Mom for a day or two…everyone wins, right?"

"Absolutely." He said with a devilish smile. "Everyone will have fun…"

"Don't even say it! Samantha is in this house!" She pointed her finger at him.

"That's how she got here in the first place." He mumbled.

"Jess!" She smacked him, though she was smiling.

"Go call your Mom." He said with a chuckle.

"Okay, then, Mr. Bossy." She said with her typical Leslie sarcasm.

"You know what I mean." He whined.

"Oh, stop!"

"Who's bossy now?"

"What are we, twelve?"

"Apparently."

"Ugh. I have taught you nothing about sarcasm."

"Yay." He remarked dryly.

"Ugh."

"You said that already, Mrs. Aarons."

"You are so typical."

"Go."

"Going!" She said with a smile. "Oh and Jess…"

"Yes?"

"About Maybelle…"

"What about her?" He spat, the humor gone.

"Do you think you could try to tell Sam about you and her?"

"Maybe…"

"Write it in a letter."

"Huh?"

"Write Sammy a letter about what happened between you and Maybelle."

"Okay." He sighed.

"Thank you." And Leslie disappeared to call her mother.

Sighing again, Jess found a piece of paper and started to write.

_A/N: We don't know just yet what happened between Jess and Maybelle…but we will soon! Review please. _


	9. Chapter 9: Pre Bedtime Story

A/N: I know a lot of the chapters have been taking place in the "Alternate Earth", but only a few more until we get back to the "Real Earth", solidly

_A/N: I know a lot of the chapters have been taking place in the "Alternate Earth", but only a few more until we get back to the "Real Earth", solidly. Enjoy! Oh, this might help: _

_Jess: The King_

_Leslie: The Queen_

_Maybelle: The Princess/The New Queen_

_Joyce Ann: The Princess's Student/The New Princess_

_Jack Aarons: The Oldest King/Dark Master_

_Samantha: The Rightful Heir_

**Chapter 9**

**Pre-Bedtime Story**

_**THE ALTERNATE EARTH**_

"Mom, do I _have _to go to Grandma Judy's tomorrow?"

"Sam, what's the matter? Your dad said you wanted to go to Grandma's." This was Leslie, who was arguing with Samantha about her going to Judy's the next morning.

"I said I _missed _Grandma Judy. I didn't say I wanted to spend the night at her house, all alone for two nights while you and Daddy go off to who-knows-where." Samantha explained.

"Sammy, you won't be all alone. You'll have Grandma!"

"I know, but I won't have your bedtime story." She was running out of excuses before her mother discovered the truth.

"I'll tell you an extra long one tonight." Leslie offered, though her patience was wearing thin.

"It's not the same." The little girl whined.

"Samantha Lydia Aarons, you are going to your grandmother's house while your father and I celebrate our anniversary. That's that. Now do you want that extra long story tonight or not?"

"Yes please, Mom." Said Samantha with a small smile.

"Okay then. Hop into bed, missy."

After her daughter was tucked under the covers, Leslie began her story. For the first time though, she wasn't really sure how.

"This isn't like my normal stories Sam, but in a way, it is."

"You mean it's not about Terabithia?"

Leslie winced at the name. She had been telling Samantha bedtime stories about Terabithia since she was four years old, but she still didn't know that in the minds of her mother and father, Terabithia had been real, not just a bedtime story. She didn't know that the Sqogre and the Vulture and the troll had been very real to them, that they faced their human forms everyday at school. She didn't know that the Dark Master was really her Grandpa Jack, that the Princess's student was Joyce Ann Aarons, or that Terabithia's brave princess, her favorite character, was actually aunt Maybelle.

"It is, actually, just not set _in _Terabithia."

"So no Squogre or Vulture or troll?"

"Uh, no…but there are villains in this story, and a great battle. I know how you like those." This caused the blonde to smile.

Samantha's favorite books were in the Narnia series, like _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, _("What's not to like about Lucy Pevensie and the wardrobe?" She always said. Truthfully, Samantha wished to be the next "Queen Lucy" to be pulled into Narnia.) _Prince Caspian, _(It was because of the battle between Peter and the evil King Miraz that Leslie added in the Dark Master.) and _The Last Battle. _("Just like the fight between Peter and Miraz, only better." She said.)

"Oh, okay."

"So, once upon a time, in the wonderful world of Terabithia, the castle in the great Oak was busy with a flurry of activity. The King and Queen were defending the kingdom, and the Princess was training her student, as her time to allow the student to become the Princess was drawing near. Soon after, the old Princess would become Queen, and the King and Queen would have to leave the new generation to their kingdom."

"Oh, is this the problem? The King and Queen don't want to give Terabithia to the Princess and her student?"

"Perhaps if you let me tell the story you'll find out faster." Leslie replied with a kind but reprimanding smile.

"Sorry. Please continue Momma."

"Okay. As I was saying, the time was coming near for the King and Queen to leave their positions as the land's rulers. They were not too worried, however, for the Princess was the most capable of rulers, and her student's knowledge had flourished under the Princess's instruction. But of course, every King frets when he must leave his kingdom, especially one as wonderful as Terabithia was, in the hands of his baby sisters." She paused, waiting for a reaction from Samantha. She got one.

"The Princess and her student are the King's little sisters?!"

"Oh, yes. Didn't I tell you that?" She said nonchalantly, but inside she was very pleased. The story was having the affect she desired: Giving her daughter hints about her family's past through the fantasy land she loved.

"No!"

"Oh, well, I apologize."

"Keep going Mommy, please!"

"Alright, I will. So, where was I…Oh yes! The King and his sisters, the Princess and her student. Though the good King would miss his kingdom, he trusted his sisters, and the coronation of a new Queen and Princess was a happy one, though the kind Terabithians wept when it was time for their faithful, proud King and Queen to depart from Terabithia."

"Where did they go, how did they leave?"

"They left through the Sacred Grove, the large, rolling landscape just beyond the Treetop Provinces. All of the magic of Terabithia is stored in the Sacred Grove, so it was the only place the old rulers could go to so that they could go to where all Terabithia's Kings and Queens are banished, no, _sent _to after their rule ends."

"Where's that, Mom?"

"Our world. The world beyond Terabithia. Earth."

"Wow!" Samantha breathed, excitement building in her.

"The new Queen promised her brother and sister-in-law that their kingdom would be safe, and with that they departed. Though they forever missed their land and their people, they adapted to life in the real, non-magical world. However, one day, the Oldest King, the King's father,"

"And the New Queen's and Princess's father, right?" Samantha added.

"Right. Well, one day, the Old King fell very ill. VERY ill. So ill, in fact, that the King and Queen were taken from our world, back to Terabithia. And do you know what they found?"

Samantha shook her head.

"They found Terabithia deserted. The Princess had tried to salvage the last of the Terabithians, but after the new Queen left, everyone, even the Princess, had given up on Terabithia's magic. Darkness plagued the land, and all was lost. The new Queen devoted her time to healing her sick father, and spent little time on herself. This was very bad, as the King and Queen and the new Princess knew that without the healing aid of Terabithia, the new Queen would soon collapse. And collapse she did. Soon, the Old King died, and all of his children slipped into mourning. The new Queen hurt the most, as she had always been her father's favorite, not matter how much their mother, now known as 'The Black Widow', tried to tell them differently. Now, the King was very concerned for her, as she was his little sister. They loved each other very much, and, though they did bicker often, they had Terabithia to bond them, something that other siblings did not. The King approached the new Queen, telling her to take some time for herself. It would help her grief over their lost father."

"Did she do as the King asked, Mom?"

"Yes, yes she did. She took so much time for herself, however, that she stopped caring about the others in her family, leaving the other children, the Old King and the Black Widow had five children, to care for their broken mother, and to do the laborious tasks a royal funeral involves."

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know…burial plots, funds, alerting the rest of the family and friends, things like that. Anyway…the new queen took so much time for herself that she began to desert her family, her responsibilities, everything. The King and his sister began to quarrel, and soon they began to quarrel so much that they lost sight of what they were quarreling about. Later, the King and Queen were sent back to earth, and the King and the New Queen had yet to make up. Not soon after, the Queen gave birth to a little girl, who was the Rightful Heir, Terabithia's next princess. You would think the King would be happy, as it would make the New Princess the next Queen, and his daughter the next Princess, the next student. The sister that he quarreled with would be out of power. But the King was so proud that he could not even bring himself to show his daughter her future kingdom. He only allowed his baby girl to see his mother, the Black Widow. But the Black Widow was still in great mourning for her late husband. She terrorized her granddaughter, and domineered over the New Princess, separating her from her brother and his family. The New Queen refused to talk to anyone but her mother. She wouldn't even talk to her youngest sister, who had at one time been her student, her best friend. And so, that began a life-long quarrel between the King and the New Queen, forever keeping the Rightful Heir from her kingdom. The end."

"That was a sad story Momma." Samantha commented as her mother turned out her lamp and kissed her goodnight.

"Well, not all stories in Terabithia's history are happy. Now sleep tight, my little princess. You've got a big day tomorrow."

"Night Mom. I love you."

"Love you too, honey." Then Leslie left her daughter to her sleep.

And as for Samantha, she simply rolled over and fell peacefully asleep, not even realizing that the story was her own family history.

_A/N: Tada! I hope you enjoyed. Sorry it took me so long to post, but this was a very big chapter, and I've been busy. However, I did post a oneshot for you today to make up for my tardiness. :) __**A HEADS UP:**__ I am leaving for vacation for at least three days, (if not more) on June 6__th__. While I hope to get at least one more chapter posted before I leave, (hopefully more) I may not, as the plot begins to get more complicated, and the chapters longer. I doubt I will have Internet access on my trip, but rest assured, I HAVE NOT given up on this story, and I will try to write as much as possible in my absence. :) Please review! _


	10. Chapter 10: Arlington

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, everyone

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, everyone!_

**Chapter 10**

**Arlington**

_**THE ALTERNATE EARTH**_

"Sammy, we're here." Leslie said gently. They had arrived in Arlington, where Judy lived. (In fact, it was the same house Leslie and her parents lived before they moved to Lark Creek. After Bill died, Judy moved back to Arlington, since Leslie was grown and had a family of her own.)

"Hmm…" Samantha mumbled sleepily from the backseat.

"We're at Grandma's." Leslie repeated again.

"Oh." The little girl stared at the identical stucco-covered houses that lined the streets. They were so close together she was almost sure that if she and the neighbor opened their windows at the same time, she would be able to hear the neighbor's toilet flush while she was inside of her Grandmother's house.

"Cheer up, Sam." Her father said encouragingly.

"Oh, it's not that, it's just…everything's so close together here. It makes me claustrophobic. Not at all like Williamsburg."

Her mother chuckled dryly. "Welcome to the city."

After driving for a few blocks, Jesse turned the tuck into a driveway. Samantha was pleased to see that her Grandma's house wasn't at the heart of the new "Stucco City". The houses here were older, and not as close together. And though she could still hear some of the traffic, (they were only five blocks from the condominiums, after all.) she was certain she would hear no toilet besides her own.

The family of three ambled from the pickup. As Samantha climbed out of the backseat, luggage in hand, she felt her sneakers hit something soft. Grass, she realized. Her feet were on a perfectly manicured lawn.

_At least Grandma Judy still likes being outside. _She thought. Then she hopped off the lawn and joined her parents on the brick path that lead to the front door.

"Nothing's changed here at all." Leslie commented. "And I haven't been here since I was ten years old."

Samantha was pleased that her mother found this house familiar and cozy. As her grandparents had always visited them in Williamsburg, (They didn't want Leslie and Jesse to drive when Samantha was an infant, and afterwards it became habit.) she had never seen their house. She was happy that her Mom had grown up here for a while; it made it instantly more home-like and safe.

She looked at the house, trying to envision what it looked like with her mother as a girl. She imagined that her Mom had played soccer on this lawn, that she had suggested the pink geraniums that sat in the pots beside the porch swing. Maybe her Momma had sat with Grandma Judy and Grandpa Bill on that swing and told them stories, like she told her parents' stories sometimes. Maybe a young Leslie had kicked that soccer ball at the screen, and that's where the hole came from, as well as the dent in the red front door. Maybe Grandpa Bill had painted the house blue since it was his daughter's favorite color. And maybe she had slept in that little small room on the second floor, with the little round window that was set deep in the gingerbread-house trim that surrounded the whole building.

Samantha sighed. Maybe. But as far as she could see, the images of her mother as a girl would forever stay in her imagination, secluded and unanswered. She couldn't ask her mother or grandmother, they hated talking about when Bill was alive, and her father only knew about what happened after Leslie moved to Lark Creek. (_He should. _Samantha often reminded herself. _He was with her the whole time she was living in Lark Creek._)

Suddenly, the holey screen door swung open, and there Judy Burke stood, with the bright eyes and radiating happiness that both Leslie and Samantha had inherited.

"My babies!" Judy cried, jogging towards the little brick path, nearly upsetting a pot of geraniums in the process.

"Hi Mom." Leslie said with a smile, and despite the fact that the two had seen each other scarcely two weeks before; they embraced as though they had been apart a long time.

"Jess! Get your butt in here, my handsome son-in-law! I haven't seen you in a year. Get over here and hug your old mother-in-law!" Judy ordered playfully after she finished hugging her daughter.

Jesse chuckled. "Yes Ma'am, Momma Burke." He said teasingly, as he knew Judy hated it when he called her "Momma Burke."

"Oh! You!" Judy spat, but then broke down laughing, and tossed a faded garden glove at her son-in-law's head before hugging him.

As for Samantha, she stayed back, suddenly shy. She didn't know why, either, and it bothered her. What was it? Was it her Grandmother's appearance? No, she decided. Grandma Judy looked exactly the same: Almost solid white hair, with a few streaks of her natural red hair remaining. Her brown eyes still sparkled, and she still wore over-alls, sneakers and an old sweatshirt, which meant she had been gardening.

Unfortunately for her, the hugging soon ended, and her father turned his attention back to her, ending the little girl's "Soul Search".

"Hey Sammy, watcha doing back there, anyway? Hug your Grandma!"

And though she would have liked to say no, Samantha Aarons was a very obedient and well-mannered child by nature, as her mother had been, and knew she couldn't allow herself to say no to her father, not when the task was as simple and polite as hugging her Grandma Judy.

So she made her way up the path, suddenly feeling like Anne Boleyn must've as she went to be executed.

Judy knelt down at eye level, looking at her granddaughter studiously.

"Hi, Grandma Judy." Samantha whispered quietly when she approached.

"Miss Samantha, you've grown so much, my little beauty." Judy said fondly, running her palm over the young girl's brunette locks. And then instinctually, Samantha folded her Grandmother in a hug.

With a smile, Judy returned her granddaughter's embrace, and Samantha discovered what she had been afraid of: rejection. But there was no rejection in the old woman's hug, and the fear was washed clean away. Leslie and Jess shared a small but warm smile, and knew that their daughter could be left alone in her grandmother's company without fear or sadness.

After the hug ended, the parents decided it was time for them to leave.

"We gotta be taking off, Mom." Leslie said.

"Yeah, we better." Jess agreed, eager to go back to Terabithia after almost nine years.

"Oh, very well, but Miss Sam and I will be having fun without you." Judy winked, causing Samantha to giggle.

Leslie stepped forward to hug her daughter goodbye. "Be good." She whispered once the little girl was in her arms.

"I will, Mommy, I promise." Her voice was muffled against her mother's chest, but the recipient could hear just fine.

Jesse was next. "Behave princess." He whispered. "Love you."

"Love you too, Daddy."

Then the two adults got in the car, shouting "Love you!" and "Be good, missy!" as they disappeared down the road.

"Well," Judy sighed after a minute. "Let's get you inside and settled so I can start dinner. How do cheeseburgers and homemade fries sound?"

She licked her lips. "Yum!"

They each grabbed a suitcase from the walk and headed inside.

Samantha was happy to see that the inside of her Grandma's house, though small and older, was immaculate. No TV was in the tidy living room, only an old Underwood typewriter sat on the sturdy cherry coffee table. Behind the table was a comfy looking leather couch, covered with a red and blue afghan. She noticed that there were only three photos: One of Bill and Judy with Leslie around age eleven, and she was holding a scrappy black and white mutt Samantha had never heard of before. Another was a photo of Leslie in her wedding dress, Jess beside her. And finally there was a picture of Bill holding a chubby cheeked Samantha.

She didn't have a chance to see the kitchen before her Grandma began to lead the way up the cherry staircase. They made their way down a narrow hallway, before Judy opened the second door off the landing.

"This is the guestroom. I'll call you when dinner is ready. Make yourself at home, sweetheart." And, kissing the top of her granddaughter's head, she left.

Samantha decided to leave her clothes in her suitcase, since she was only staying for two nights. Opening her backpack, she placed the books she had brought on the small desk in the corner. Opening her suitcase, she grabbed her toothbrush and other items and set off in pursuit of the bathroom.

She discovered the bathroom was right next to the guest bedroom. Grandma Judy still hadn't called her for dinner, and she didn't have anything to read, that she hadn't already, and for some reason tonight re-reading _A Little Princess _for the eighteenth time, (not that it wasn't good enough to re-read eighteen times) just didn't sound…what was it…exciting enough. Yes! That was it. Doing average, ordinary run-of-the-mill things that she could do at home simply wasn't exciting enough for being at her Grandmother's house for the first time.

But what could she do? Grandma didn't have a TV. Then she scolded herself. Samantha Lydia Aarons absolutely _did not _stoop to something as low as television in times of boredom. Even admitting boredom was beneath her caliber! She was in a new and exciting place, and everyone knew that every new and exciting place held some utterly fantastic secret. She thought that there might be a secret message or a treasure map hidden in the old typewriter downstairs, but she reconsidered. As much as she was sure that her Grandma Judy liked treasure or secret messages as much as anybody did, she was also pretty certain she didn't want her typewriter defaced in the process.

_I might as well explore the upstairs tonight, and then if I don't find anything up here, I'll search downstairs tomorrow morning before she wakes up. _Samantha thought, and instantly excitement filled her. She would be just like Andrew and Mary and Alice in _The Magician's House Quartet_! Maybe she would find a passage to Narnia, or an imprisoned wizard from the eighteenth century who had once cast a spell on King Henry the Eighth's castle so that they would behead Anne Boleyn. Or, she thought, she could find Anne Boleyn's ghost! Or a passage to the ruins of Cair Paravel, the Moon Maiden's pearls, a clever cat named Zachariah, Miss Heliotrope's book of essays, Dorothy's slippers, or maybe Emily, Sara Crewe's doll, that she kept even when Miss Minchin banished her to live with Becky in that cold garret.

Filled with a determined attitude, she began to feel the panels in the guest room for any signs of hidden doors or latches. When she discovered nothing in her room, she made her way to the hall, feeling along the panels. Suddenly, something caught her eye.

It was a door. A door at the far end of the hallway, a door she had yet to open. Eagerly, she hurried to it, grabbing the knob giddily. The door swung open with ease, revealing a set of narrow concrete steps recessed deep in the wall. She began to climb them with such excitement and ease that she didn't even stop to think about what might be at the top.

Soon, the stairs became even smaller and the passage darker. But Samantha's courage nor her excitement did not diminish, and she pressed boldly on.

"I'll be just like Nancy Drew when she found the skeleton in the old attic." She told the empty passage.

Shortly after, her head hit something hard, like a wooden panel, and she yelped in pain. What was strange though is that there were two more stairs before they ran out. Suddenly, she had an idea. Ducking her head slightly, she lifted her arm and pushed the panel.

It gave.

_A/N: Ah, a bit of a cliffhanger, eh? Leonepnt, you got your wish! :) Anyway, please review and tell me what you thought. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I thought all the references to classic novels showed how much Samantha is like Leslie. :)_


	11. Chapter 11: Grandma Judy's Attic

A/N: I'm so glad you guys enjoyed that chapter

_A/N: I'm so glad you guys enjoyed that chapter! Reviews make me happy. :) I made a slight mistake: I'm going away on Sunday, June 8. So you may get another chapter out of me before I leave. :) Also, in case anyone was wondering:_

_The wizard who ordered Anne Boleyn's execution is from "The Magician's House Quartet" by William Baker. The passage to Narnia and Cair Paravel are from "The Chronicles of Narnia" by CS Lewis. Emily, Sara Crewe's doll, is from "A Little Princess" by Frances Hodgeson Burnett. Dorothy's ruby slippers are from "The Wizard of Oz" by L. Frank Baum. And, finally, the clever cat named Zachariah, the Moon Maiden's pearls, and Miss Heliotrope's book of essays are from "The Little White Horse" by Elizabeth Goudge. :) Oh, by the way, if you read chapter 10 a few days ago and can't remember what happened, I suggest you read chapters 10 and 11 together._

**Chapter 11**

**Grandma Judy's Attic**

_**THE ALTERNATE EARTH**_

Samantha gasped as the wooden panel gave way under her hand, swinging aside and landing with an impressive **THUMP** on the floor. The two remaining concrete stairs were now visible, and from what she could see, the once exciting steps now lead into dark oblivion. A cool draft blew onto her face, and the air smelled musty. For a moment she almost ran down the steps to go ask Grandma Judy to come with her into the dark hole in the ceiling. After all, monsters never ate grownups.

_Magic never shows itself for grownups either. _She thought. _Or, Grandma might not want me up there, and that will be the end of finding anything utterly fantastic. And where's my courage, anyway? Sara and Becky never complained about the garret and look what happened to them. Now THAT was utterly fantastic!_

And so, summing up the rest of her courage, she took a deep breath and climbed the final steps into the hole.

The room above the steps was dark, cold, and musty smelling. As she went to step farther in, she tripped over a cardboard box and fell, sneezing wildly on the dust that covered the wooden flooring. Sitting herself up and dusting off her T-shirt, she poked the box with her foot. Its contents rattled.

"I wish I knew where the light switch was." She said aloud.

And, almost like magic, Samantha noticed the small round window she had seen from the front walk. The fading evening light provided just enough vision that she could see the light switch on the far wall. Smiling to herself, she rose and made her way carefully through the maze of boxes to the switch.

Now that the light filled the room, she could see. The attic had not been used for some time, as it was dusty and dirty and damp. Cardboard boxes and trunks of various sizes filled every nook and cranny. The floor was cherry hardwood, as it was downstairs, but the paint on the walls was basic white, and pealing away.

Samantha shivered with excitement. She had found it! She had found the fantastic place that everyone finds when they go someplace new. A beautiful, untouched, place filled with old memories.

The old memories and history she had been longing for.

Hungrily, she looked around, wondering which box or trunk to open first. But something pulled her back to the box that had tripped her when she first entered the attic. Maybe it was fate, she reasoned. Maybe she, Samantha Lydia Aarons, was supposed to open this box.

Maybe it was her father's family.

Sitting down cross-legged on the dusty floor, she pulled the box into her lap and opened it.

On the top of the box there was an old blue photo album. Samantha selected it and opened the faded cover.

For the first few pages, there were photos of Bill and Judy's wedding. Though they weren't terribly exciting, she enjoyed looking at them. They were comforting. She especially liked the wedding certificate.

_**THIS SIGNIFIES THE MARRIAGE OF**_

_**William Earnest Burke**_

_**TO**_

_**Judith Anna Parkington**_

_**ON**_

_**August 8**__**th**__**, 1987**_

That was it for the wedding photos. Next came Leslie's baby pictures, as well as her birth announcement. Samantha smiled. The birth announcement was so unlike her mother: Lace covered, frilly and pink. The picture, however, was a great likeness. The infant Leslie was lying on her back, blue-green eyes wide, arms up, trying to grab the camera. And though her teeth hadn't started to grow, there was a big smile on the baby girl's face. She read the writing on the birth announcement.

_**HELP US CELEBRATE THE BIRTH OF OUR ANGEL!**_

_**We Welcome Into the World:**_

_**LESLIE SOPHIA BURKE**_

_**Born December 3**__**rd**__**, 1994, at 3:16 AM**_

_**20 INCHES LONG, 5 LBS, 4 OUNCES**_

Still smiling, she extracted the birth announcement from the book, lying on the floor beside her leg. Grandma Judy never came up here. She wouldn't notice the birth announcement missing, right? And besides, Samantha could return it to the scrapbook before her parents picked her up in two days.

After a few more pages of Leslie's baby and toddler pictures, the time changed yet again. Instead of being in front of the blue house in Arlington, she was in the country, sitting in front of a beautiful, old, white farmhouse. She looked to be about ten or eleven years old. Then she was posing with the same black and white mutt Samantha had seen in the family photo downstairs. She pulled it out of the book, curious to see if Judy had written anything on the back. She had.

_**Leslie and Prince Terrian, (P.T.) October 2007**_

So, the dog's name was Prince Terrian. That was the same name Leslie had given the giant troll hunter in the bedtime stories about Terabithia. Samantha placed it back in the album. After a few more pages, she found a photo of Leslie and P.T. with a very familiar looking boy and a six year old girl that was probably the boy's little sister. Taking the picture out, she hoped there would be a caption on the back. There was.

_**Leslie, with Jess and Maybelle Aarons. (Neighbors. Jess is Leslie's best friend) March 2008**_

Maybelle Aarons.

That was Samantha's aunt at age six, with her mother and father.

Putting the picture away, she disregarded the scrapbook and began going through the rest of the box. There was only one more thing in the box, she realized. A red spiral notebook. Curious, she picked it up, opening the cover.

On the inside cover was an amazing colored pencil drawing of a castle. The first page read:

**THE HISTORY OF TERABITHIA**

**Written By:**

**Leslie Burke**

**Illustrated By:**

**Jess Aarons **

Samantha gasped. Terabithia! Maybe there were more stories in the notebook that her mother hadn't told her yet.

All of a sudden, Judy's voice rang through the house, even reaching the attic.

"SA-MAN-THA! DINN-ER!" She yelled, pronouncing the syllables clear and loud.

"Uh, coming Grandma Judy!" Samantha shouted, stuffing the notebook under her shirt. Before she left, she stopped to grab the photo of Leslie, Jess, and Maybelle as kids.

It was comforting.

_A/N: Hmm…don't know if that was one of my better chapters. Please review and tell me what you thought. This will PROBABLY be my last chapter posted before leaving on the 8__th__, but I'll try to write as much as I can. ;) _


	12. Chapter 12: The News

A/N: A VACATION CHAPTER

_A/N: A VACATION CHAPTER!! :) Things will start to get interesting after this…_

**Chapter 12**

**The News**

_**THE ALTERNATE EARTH**_

Samantha stirred under her blankets. Her normally peaceful, happy dream was getting confusing.

She was having a dream about Terabithia. Or so she thought. Because this Terabithia was nothing like the Terabithia she envisioned from her mother's bedtime stories. _Her _Terabithia was all purple flowers and trolls and Squogres and Vulchers and the great big golden castle that the Princess (Or, now the new Queen, judging from the story her mom had told her the night before.) had almost burnt down while trying to have a bonfire with the King and Queen one night.

But this…this…what was this place, anyway? It just looked like a plain old forest to her. It _had _been Terabithia at one point. It must've been, because it looked just like the Terabithia Leslie had described. But suddenly, the magic left. It was just a bleak, dark forest now. The girl she had seen was gone, and her normally happy friend was there, by himself, dressed in black. He was sad, mourning for something. No, someone.

Now, had Samantha been watching this as if it were say, a movie, she would have noticed that the sad young boy looked just like her father had in that old photo she had found in the attic the night before. The same photo that was nestled under her pillow at that very moment. The boy was older, yes, he was now fourteen instead of eleven, as he had been in the photograph, but he was still the same boy none the less. His hair was a bit bushier, he had grown a few inches, and a great pain had been slightly dulled.

But he was still Jesse Oliver Aarons.

But sadly for Samantha, she was asleep, and she could not make the connection. Nobody can make a connection when they're dreaming. It's simply not done, my dear readers, you know that. It's like trying to wake up before your dream is finished. You may be _aware _that you are dreaming in a few rare cases, but you can not wake yourself up until the dream has run it's course.

So Samantha Aarons has absolutely no idea that she is dreaming of her father as a fourteen year old boy, seeing exactly what he is doing at the very moment she is asleep. What is he doing, you ask? I'll tell you what he is doing.

He is in Terabithia; the very same Terabithia his semi-existent daughter thought she was dreaming about. You see, readers, Samantha Aarons, (the semi-existent little girl) is seeing just what happened in Terabithia when her mother and father were children.

But she also must see her mother's death in another world. The _real _world. The world that was not created by an estranged man named Lewis Howard. The world that is not her own.

At least, not yet.

But I am getting ahead of myself. We will get to the details in time, don't worry.

So, you see, this little girl in one world is seeing the three year anniversary of her own mother's death.

Wait, the dream is fading. Oddly, though it is a strange and confusing dream, Samantha doesn't want it to end. She wants to know why this chillingly familiar boy is sad, what happened to her Terabithia, what happened to the blonde girl that the now sad boy fell in love with one rainy evening. She _wants _to know.

But she _can't _know. It would completely destroy the barrier between the two earths.

And the barrier is doing bad enough without anything aiding its demise.

Every dream from either side of the barrier, any time lapse, tears the barrier's delicate threads. And these threads are very delicate, since the only person who knows of its existence killed himself the night it began weaving its "Alternate Earth". Every tear in the unmonitored wall is slightly bigger than the one before it, and, considering the amount of tears, this wall is hanging by threads.

Very breakable threads.

Samantha jerked awake, panting. That was a _very _odd dream. It had ended with that sad, lonely boy falling asleep by a creek, and then she had seen a translucent barrier between two planets being ripped, (yet again, might I add.) leaving only a small fragment between the two "Worlds".

After her breathing slowed, she glanced at the clock. 9:05 AM. Grandma Judy was most likely up already. Normally Samantha would be too, but she had stayed up until about midnight reading the spiral notebook about Terabithia's history. Though she knew all the stories, it didn't make them any less wonderful, especially with the addition of Jesse's breathtaking illustrations.

Suddenly, she picked up voices downstairs. It sounded faintly like Grandma Judy, and…a man. One she didn't know. She was very good at remembering voices. She could identify voices better than faces or names.

She sat up and tossed back the covers, allowing her feet to hang just a few centimeters above the wooden floor. Then she stopped herself, now aware of what she had almost automatically gotten out of bed so that she could go to the landing and eavesdrop. She scolded herself.

_Remember what Momma and Daddy said about eavesdropping. It's rude and only leads to trouble. Momma would know. She said she used to eavesdrop a lot and often had to drag Daddy down with her. _

Samantha smiled as she remembered a story her mother had once told her.

"_My family and I had just moved to Lark Creek." Leslie had told her daughter. "I had known your father for a few weeks. We already had a common enemy: the big, bad, eighth grade bully named Janice Avery."_

"_She made the first graders pay to pee." Jesse piped up. _

"_And she stole Twinkies too." Leslie added. "But anyway…as you can tell from the lovely pieces of information your Dad and I have supplied, Janice Avery WAS NOT a very nice person. She did have a good reason, though. Your Daddy and I didn't like it, so we decided to do something about it. We decided to write a fake love note to Janice from Willard Hughes, the boy she had a crush on. We had to sneak into the eighth grade classroom, and…"_

"_Correction! __**I **__had to sneak into the eighth grade classroom. __**You**__, on the other hand, stayed outside and 'Kept Watch'." Jess snorted._

"_I stopped Mr. Bailey from catching you, didn't I? Anyway Sam, the point I was trying make is this. Getting even and sneaking around and listening in is not good behavior for young ladies."_

"_And since your mother was NEVER lady-like, she didn't mind doing all those things, and she dragged me down with her most of the time too."_

She sighed as the memory faded and a wave of homesickness washed over her. She missed listening to her parents banter. They did it a lot, too. They reminded her of the kids who were in her fourth grade class last year. More homesickness filled her as she remembered her Mom's promise to take her shopping for fifth grade school clothes in a few weeks.

"_I met your Dad in fifth grade, at Lark Creek Elementary School. He was my best friend for about seven years. Then, on his seventeenth birthday, he told me he finally knew what he wanted for a present from me."_

"_What was it, Mom?"_

_Leslie sighed fondly. "A date."_

"_Aww." Samantha had teased. _

"'_Aww' indeed." Leslie giggled like she was ten years old again. "Then, he asked me to marry him, some years later."_

"_Aww!" She laughed again._

"_And here we are now, with a beautiful little girl." She ran her pointer finger down Samantha's nose. "Our family is known to meet good people in fifth grade, Sam. How about I take you clothes shopping closer to school time and tell you stories about me and Daddy in fifth grade, okay?"_

"_Sounds great Mom thanks." She smiled._

Sighing again, Samantha lay back down and ordered herself to sleep. It didn't work. She tossed and turned, searching for any piece of information she could pick up about Grandma Judy and the unidentified man. Finally she got her "Sign".

The sound of the front door closing.

Counting to fifty in her head, she tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed, pausing for another ten seconds before opening the door. Bare feet sliding silently across the shiny wooden floor, she made her way to the landing of the stairs and hopped down two at a time. When she hit the first floor she called out.

"Grandma Judy?"

Silence.

"Grandma Judy, are you here?" Samantha called again, louder this time.

_Maybe she went outside with the mystery man. _She thought, and satisfied with the conclusion she had reached, decided to head to the kitchen to get some cereal.

Normally her grandmother's cozy, bright kitchen would have enchanted her, but something drew her away from the charm of the room.

The police officer standing in the middle of it, talking to an abnormally disheveled Judy.

"Grandma, didn't you hear me?" She meant to sound normal, but instead it came out as a squeak.

"Mrs. Burke, is this your daughter's daughter?"

"Yes, officer, this is Les…" She trailed off, and the police officer smiled sympathetically.

"Yes." Judy croaked when she was able to speak again. "This is Samantha Aarons, my granddaughter. And please, call me Ms. Parkington, not Mrs. Burke."

"Yes, of course Ma'am." The officer smiled sadly again.

_Something's going on…but what? _Samantha thought, and as the man turned his sad and sympathetic eyes on her, her slight curiosity turned to cold, sickening dread.

As he took a step towards her, she stared at him coldly and took one step out of the kitchen.

"Samantha, this is Officer Tyler with the police department." Judy said weakly, but the stranger's confirmed title did nothing for the skeptical little girl.

"Miss Aarons, I presume?" The officer said gently, walking towards her.

"Yes sir. And please call me Samantha."

A small smile tugged at the edge of the man's mouth as he noticed the girl's smart, logical speech.

_She'll need the maturity. _He thought sadly.

"Well then, Miss Samantha, I'm afraid your Grandma has to tell you something rather…unfortunate to tell you."

"Oh, does she?" Samantha said back as politely as she could, but Tyler was well aware she was shaking.

_It's like she knows what's coming…_He thought miserably, and at that moment, he hated this part of his job with a fire he had never before experienced.

"Ms. Parkington, if you'd like, I can leave you and your granddaughter alone for a moment while you tell her."

Judy Burke-Parkington's eyes grew twice their normal size. "You want me to tell her?!" She shrieked, slapping her hand to the side of her head, resulting in knotting her hair even more.

"Tell me what?" Samantha asked quietly. Unfortunately, she was ignored.

"Um, yes Ma'am. I think it would be best, rather than I tell her, since you are her mother's mother…"

"Oh!" the old woman cried in despair, and for the first time, her granddaughter noticed the tears shining in her dark eyes.

"What's going on?" She demanded, louder this time.

"So like my Leslie was! So like her Momma was!" The lady screeched, tears falling now. The poor police man looked like he wanted to begin crying with Judy.

It took Samantha a few moments to process what her Grandmother had said. And when she did, her sickening feeling of dread became a swirling black hole of depression, anger, and confusion.

"Wait, _was_? What do you mean, _was_?!" She half-shouted, determined to be heard.

Apparently, a shout of determination was just the right tool, because both adults turned to look at her, and Judy's sobs quieted to an occasional soft whimper.

"Tell me what you mean." She said. It wasn't a half shout, but it was still firmer than her normal voice. "I don't care who tells me." She stated her blue-green eyes fiery, flawlessly locked with each face. "So long as _somebody _tells me what is going on here."

Officer Tyler and Judy Parkington exchanged a glance, very much like the glance Jack and Mary Aarons exchanged before telling their son that his best friend had died.

"Miss Samantha…" Tyler sighed as he walked towards the girl, unsure of how to deliver this life changing news.

"You know how your parents were away for their anniversary?"

"Yes sir, I know."

"Well…they were in a boat tonight, Miss. A rowboat and they were on a little narrow stream. The boat caught on a pointy rock and, it broke the boards. Miss Samantha, what I'm trying to say is…is that…the fact is, miss, that your parents…your parents…Miss Samantha, your parents are…your parents…" He paused, unable to tell the innocent soul the icy, hard truth. He glanced half heartedly at her face. It was expressionless, her queer-colored eyes big and curious, but also unreadable.

"What's wrong with my Mommy and Daddy, Officer Tyler?" She asked, her voice not showing any sign of expression either, except maybe curiosity.

Tyler could only sigh. "Ms. Parkington, this isn't my place." He stated simply.

The woman sighed too. "I know, Officer. Thank you for trying though."

"Honored, Ma'am." He smiled pathetically before giving his place in front of the eight year old to Judy.

"Samantha, sweetie…" Judy's voice quivered, and the tears we back in her eyes again.

"Grandma Judy, why are you sad? What's wrong with my Mommy and Daddy?" She asked quietly, letting her innocence take over.

"Oh, my little beauty." She whispered, running a palm over the dark hair.

"Grandma, _please_." Samantha begged.

With one semi-encouraging nod from the kind police man, Judy plunged forward to say the most difficult words she had ever said.

"Sammy, your parents drowned in that boat. I'm so sorry, honey. So sorry, baby."

"You mean, my parents are…dead?"

The sad nods from the adults gave the black hole of dread in her stomach enough power to devour her heart. She couldn't believe it.

"No." She said. "Mommy and Daddy can't be dead, you're joking. They're not even dead, you're lying!" She yelled, and spun around, her father's dark hair drying the tears in her mother's blue-green eyes.

Her grandmother let out a wail as the new orphan raced out of the house, heart pounding. She left the soccer ball door wide open, not even caring that she knocked over the pink geraniums and broke the terracotta pot as she raced down the porch.

Stupid geraniums deserved a bit of suffering.

She didn't notice that the gravel on the pathway was cutting her delicate bare feet as she raced across the driveway. To her, the pain from the wounds meshed with the pain in her heart.

She didn't care that Officer Tyler and her Grandmother were screaming for her to stop. She didn't care about them. And she'd never care about anyone ever again. You always loose things you care about, and the pain is far too great.

She ran and ran, crying. She wasn't quite sure where she was going, but all she knew was that she had to keep going. Running away was the only thing that could stall the death of her parents. It was her job, her duty. It was up to her. She had to keep running away.

She had almost reached the asphalt road when she tripped over a knotted stump at the edge of the yard. Her ankle twisted and she squealed in pain, tumbling to the ground, now sobbing uncontrollably, choking out three names, and only repeating those three names.

Judy Burke raced from her porch to the edge of the yard and scooped up the sobbing little girl. She found her choking out four words between sobs.

"Mommy, Daddy, Grandpa Bill." She choked. "Mommy, Daddy, Grandpa Bill!"

"Oh, Samantha, baby." Judy whispered, her own tears falling and landing in her granddaughter's hair. "Shh, honey, shh, Sammy. It'll be okay, it'll all turn out okay, I promise."

"It's all gone!" She wailed, clinging to her Grandmother's bathrobe and crying into it. She wouldn't have her mother's stories, her father's hugs. All she had was the book about Terabithia and the photo albums in the attic. She would never know what happened to aunt Maybelle, and her Dad's mother.

Her whole world had disintegrated in a matter of seconds.

Little did this new orphan know that she had done something very much like her father had done at eleven years old. Ran away.

He had run away from the death of Leslie Burke.

_A/N: My longest chapter ever! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, other than the one where Samantha discovered Judy's attic(10). I hope you enjoyed it, too. Please review!_

_WORD COUNT: 2,826_


	13. Chapter 13: Anniversary of Her Death

Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Anniversary of Her Death**

_**THE REAL EARTH**_

**7:15 AM**

Fourteen year old Jess Aarons had been awake for a little over an hour. Already he had gone for a run and returned, silently, to his house. The house was still asleep, other than himself and his father, but he had left for the hardware store at five thirty that morning. Normally Jess would have been awake at five thirty too, sitting up in bed and looking out his window, waiting for his Dad's old pickup to leave the drive so he could run before the heat set in. Though it was November, it was oddly balmy and warm, quite strange for northern Virginia in the fall. It was if the weather was exhibiting its anger at the anniversary that would come that month.

And now that anniversary was here.

That's why Jess had allowed himself to stay in bed, to sleep in late. It was Thanksgiving holiday, but he knew that his father wouldn't see that as an excuse.

"The working man never takes holidays, boy." Jack Aarons always said.

This confused and angered Jack's son. Why would he call him a man, anyway? He wasn't a man; he was just a kid, a boy. He was only in the eighth grade, for crying out loud! His voice hadn't broken, and didn't that signify that your body could handle the extreme manual labor that a grown man did?

_Not that it matters. _Jess thought bitterly. _Dad makes me work like I pushed the planets into place the day God created the earth. By the time I'm a grown man I'll have muscles like that Hulk guy in the comics Scott Hoeger is always hiding behind his history notebook to read during class. _

He sighed and slowly opened the door. It squeaked badly and Jess cringed, glancing into the room. Maybelle stirred but didn't wake, and Joyce Ann gurgled, but the three year old stayed quiet in her crib. He shook his head. Joycie was way too big for that old crib. Maybelle was eight now, and she would be nine in February. Now that old red cardigan of Brenda's was too small for her, instead of the other way around. The pink quilt that covered her bed was too small too, and her toes stuck out from the end if she wanted her shoulders covered, and if she wanted her feet covered her chest had to remain bare. Soon the small purple bed frame would follow suit, as her toes were on the tip of the mattress. Jess couldn't wait for Ellie to go to college next year on her acting scholarship. Brenda would be a senior by then, and the year after that she would go to a junior college in hopes of scrounging up her pitiful grades. Maybelle would move in with Brenda after Ellie left, and since Brenda was using her waitress earnings to share an apartment with her boyfriend, Jake Baker, Joyce Ann would move in with Maybelle when Brenda left. He would have his own room finally, so he could at last have that long yearned for privacy. No more crayon drawings in his sketchbook, no more Barbie shoes clogging his paint tubes, no more stepping on Barbie doll heads in the morning. The dislodged heads were from Super-Extreme-Barbie, naturally. Maybelle still played quite often, (though she spared the dolls given to her by Leslie.) and soon she would teach Joyce Ann the fun of destroying her dolls, (Though Jess thought it was simply because May wanted to play the game while destroying someone else's Barbie's, as her friend Alexandra did not see the point of the game.) and he would no doubt be stepping on even more heads than before.

He slipped into the room like a sneaky cat, moving almost silently. (He would've been entirely silent had he not yelped when his bare foot hit a hand-me-down roller skate, belonging to the second youngest sister.) He slid past his blanket wall into his half of the room. Rummaging though his dresser, he found a black T-shirt, his sketchbook, and a nub of charcoal. He yanked off his sweaty shirt and replaced it with the black T-shirt. He stuffed the charcoal piece into one pocket of his old jeans. All he needed was one more thing before he could head out.

Jess sighed sadly as he went into an old sketchbook for a photograph.

It was a photograph of Leslie that he had taken from the guestbook display table at her wake three years ago in November.

He traced her pretty jaw line with his pointer finger and stared into the shining blue-green eyes.

"How could I not see how beautiful you were, Les?" She whispered sadly.

_Were. _Not: "How beautiful you _are_, Les." But, "How beautiful you _were_ Leslie."

Sighing again Jess placed the photo of his late best friend into the back pocket of his jeans, once more slipping out of his bedroom without making his younger sisters stir.

Jess held his sneakers in one hand until he made it to the back porch, slipping them on with quite a bit of difficulty as his old shoes, (they weren't the pink ones, he had outgrown those long ago, but the family still hadn't had enough for new sneakers, so he had to go to a second-hand shop.) were squeezing his toes into a rather painful position.

After the too-tight sneakers were on his feet, he set off at a limping half-run half-jog pace into the forest.

Into Terabithia.

The bridge, while worn from three years of wind, rain, and the occasional hail, was still in place. Maybelle was very careful with his "project", which surprised Jess a great deal, as this was the little girl that enjoyed flushing dolls down the toilet. But for whatever reason, she took pride in caring for the "Entrance" to Terabithia. Purple flowers, known to the Terabithians as 'Maybelle Flowers', could often be found on the bridge's vine siding, woven into the plant. It was often swept clean of debris washed up by the creek or blown from the 'Treetop Provinces'.

Princess Maybelle was not in tow with Terabithia's King today, though. Today was a day for him and the kingdom's people, the ones who felt the most pain on the horribly tragic anniversary. Not that Maybelle didn't miss the departed Queen, as she had been friends with Leslie too, but Maybelle just hadn't been as close to Leslie as her brother had been. Jess felt the need and desire to be alone on the anniversary of his best friend's death. Not that his little sister couldn't comfort him, because she did on rare occasions. If he said he wished he had never found Terabithia, or something along those lines, Maybelle always had something smart to say, or something to make him think.

"If you never found Terabithia you wouldn't have found Leslie." She would say.

"If I hadn't found Leslie she wouldn't have died." He would respond, most often coldly.

"Yeah, but you both would be miserable without each other, so would you really be better off?" She would retort, and then skip off, leaving him to his confusion.

A life without Leslie. Wow. Though he had only known the blonde girl a short time before she left him, he couldn't imagine his life without her in it at all, to not have Terabithia, to not have the memories, not to have experienced the friendship, the happiness, the trust, the love, the understanding. Now _that _would be miserable. Truth be told, the companionship and love he had received from Leslie Burke would probably the only true kind of its nature, as far as he could see.

He sighed as he stepped off the redwood bridge and began to think some more.

While Maybelle was helpful on very few rare occasions, she was most often not helpful, most of the time making him think too much, or poking her nose into the bond Jess and Leslie had shared. He hated explaining their friendship to her; it was too difficult to do. Not because it hurt to remember her, (though on days like today it did) but because there was no legitimate reason _for _their friendship to have formed. They really were nothing alike, except for their love of running. Well, there was one more thing that bonded the two.

They needed friends.

Jess swerved of the beaten path and made his way into the underbrush, so he could find the more narrow part of the creek. It was farther down than the rope swing had been, farther away from the bridge. He avoided looking at the rope; it would be like purposely cutting himself with a knife because it hurt.

As he tromped though the brush he began to think of the worst question Maybelle asked, the one she asked most often. It angered him because he didn't have an answer for that particular question, and it was the answer he wanted, no, _needed_, the most. Now that Leslie was dead he would probably never know the answer to that forever painful question, as he needed her alive to investigate it. And she would always be dead, so there would be no changing that.

What was Maybelle Aarons' question? I'll tell you.

The question she often asked her brother was this.

"Jess, did you love Leslie?"

Truthfully he didn't know. He _could_ say he loved her; after all, don't all best friends love each other in their own special way? And then there was what Bill Burke, Leslie's father, had said at her wake. That was the only thing he truly remembered of the memorial service, everything else was a sad, painful, blur of sympathy and tears of loss.

He stopped walking and whispered Bill's words to the quiet forest.

"She loved you, you know."

He had said more than that, of course, about how Leslie had been pretty much friendless in Arlington, and how she had been that way until she met Jess, making him the greatest friend she'd ever had, and how he deserved to be thanked and all sorts of depressing things such as that, and that made him feel even guiltier than before, if it was possible.

He didn't feel guilty anymore, of course, or at least not as bad. But on dreary occasions such as this, he so wished he would've said five little words to Ms. Edmunds. He said them out loud now.

"Can Leslie come with us?"

Or he could've even said "Yes" when Ms. Edmunds asked if he forgot something.

Ms. Edmunds.

Jess's crush on the brunette teacher had ended when Leslie died. She really wasn't important, in the big picture of life. She was just there for fifth grade music on Fridays and that was all. He didn't even see her at school anymore, now that he had moved on to Lark Creek Junior High for seventh and eighth grade. It wasn't that he blamed Ms. Edmunds for Leslie's death; if anyone was to blame it was himself and nobody else. Jess was the only one who could've known where his friend might be.

He sighed. This was no time for guilt. He soon realized that he had slowed his pace to that equivalent (if not slower) than a snail. Stopping entirely, he began to think again.

Ms. Edmunds, it seemed, had felt a great sense of guilt over Leslie Burke's death. She had been Jess's best friend, after all, and Julia had known that the Burkes had lived next door. However, she also knew that Jess was primarily ignored at home, and may want some time alone, leaving the decision up to him. (As you can gather, Julia Edmunds was a very observant woman.)

Though his crush had ended, remaining friends with his old teacher, as he had with Mrs. Myers, (better known as "Monster Mouth Myers".) seemed appealing to Jess. Ms. Edmunds, however, chose to distance herself from her former student, even when he still attended Lark Creek Elementary. So that was the end of that, really.

He had finally reached the narrow part of the creek. Instead of starting on the project he had planned, Jess plunked himself down in the tall grass and stared into the murky brownish water. And yet again he began to think about Ms. Edmunds and Leslie.

His crush on Ms. Edmunds had been pointless and silly, when he thought about it. His mild and slightly undiscovered warm feelings for Leslie, however, were entirely logical.

Ms. Edmunds was at least ten years older than Jess, if not more. Leslie was his age, or had been, at least. He didn't really _know_ Ms. Edmunds either. All he really knew was that she was the cool, funny, fun, and pretty teacher that everybody liked. And he had known _everything_ about Leslie, just as she had known everything about him. He knew _nothing_ of the teacher's character, either. He didn't know any of her imperfections; he hadn't spent nearly every waking moment with her, as he had with Leslie.

_Not that Les had any truly annoying flaws. _He couldn't help thinking.

But what good was it, now that Leslie was dead? No good. No good at all. He opened his mouth unconsciously and started telling Terabithia just how much his world had changed since Leslie had died.

"Things have changed so much since you left, Les." He said, unaware that he was addressing his friend in particular.

"Sure, Dad and Mom and my sisters were nice to me the first year, but after that, everything went back to normal. I don't have any real friends except May, but is that even a real friend? Janice Avery and I were okay friends for the rest of my fifth grade year, but now she's a junior in high school, and a pretty popular one, from what Brenda has said. The Squogre and Vulcher left me alone while Janice was around, but when she went to the High School they started attacking me again, and nothing has changed since then, even though we'll be freshmen next year, or as Brenda calls us: 'Fresh-meat'. Oh, that'll be fun, more people to physically hurt and insult me." He snorted scornfully, but then his loneliness and depression reminded him just _why_ he was there.

"I bet I wouldn't be beat up as much if I had you with me, Les." He whispered sadly. "You'd find something Queenly to say so that the Squogre and Vulcher and probably Janice-Troll wouldn't bother me. You made everything better for me Leslie, and now you're gone, partially because of me. Who'll help me with my writing assignments? You know I suck at those, you told me, remember?"

In spite of himself, he chuckled, remembering something they had talked about in the castle about a week before she had died…

"_Jess, please tell me __**why **__we are up here when Monster Mouth just assigned us another essay?!" Leslie asked, confused as to why her best friend had begged so incessantly to come to Terabithia that afternoon._

"_And __**you're**__ worried, Miss, 'Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus, even though I've never actually been scuba diving in my whole life'?! That means I have absolutely __**no **__hope whatsoever." He moaned, causing Leslie to laugh. _

"_Why thank you, Leslie." He said sarcastically. "I'm so glad my fear of failing English brings you so much enjoyment."_

"_Hey, that was a pretty good comeback." Leslie half-smiled. "At least I've taught you __**something**__!"_

_She thought she heard him mumble something, something along the lines of: "You've taught me more than sarcasm, Leslie Burke." But she wasn't sure, so she just brought the subject back to essays._

"_Jess, writing isn't THAT hard. And your drawings are awesome, which means you're super creative. Writing is creative too, you know. They're synonymous." _

"_Synony-what?" Jess asked, knowing it would annoy his friend._

"_You know, sometimes I get worried about you…" She said dramatically. Jess chuckled, but Leslie then turned serious again. _

"_Jess, we're going to have to do tons more writing assignments before we get out of high school! You're going to have to write eventually."_

"_But I suck at writing!" He whined, but high-pitched whining made his throat hurt, resulting in a cough. Leslie giggled again, but she spoke once more._

"_Now how do you know that?"_

"_You haven't seen my fourth grade report card." Jess said dryly._

_Leslie sighed. "I'll help you this once, okay? But you've gotta do it on your own too, because you might now always have me." She told him, reaching into her bag for an English book._

"You were right about me not having you around. But I really wish I could get you back somehow." He said before glancing at his watch. 8:40. He had been here for more than an hour! But he was so tired…

Jess yawned and lay down in the grass by the small stream, liking the feel of the soft green grass beneath him and the warm sun above him. It was so…so…peaceful.

_But you CAN'T fall asleep!_ He thought, just before the rhythmic bubbling of the creek lulled him into a deep sleep.

Unfortunately for him, this sleep was anything but peaceful…

**A/N: Ooh, a cliffhanger! Sort of. What makes the dream so uncomfortable will be in the next chapter…**

**I really liked writing this chapter. A lot of the chapters have been in "The Alternate Earth", and I wanted you to see what Jess and his family had been doing since Leslie's death.**

**I have a new longest chapter now too! :) **

**I hope you enjoyed this, and please review!**

**-Emily**

**WORD COUNT: 2,955!**


	14. Chapter 14: The Dream

A/N: Wow, I'm so glad you guys liked my last chapter

_A/N: Wow, I'm so glad you guys liked my last chapter! MadTom left a very good review, and so I want to clarify his question… He reminded me that Janice Avery was an 8__th__ grader in the movie while still at Lark Creek Elementary. So sorry I forgot! I forgot to clarify just WHY there was a Lark Creek Junior High. You'll have to learn in a few chapters, sorry! :) _

**Chapter 14**

**The Dream**

_**THE REAL EARTH**_

We all have strange dreams once in a while. Ones we can't explain, ones that are terrifying and strangely soothing at the same time. Often after we have them we cannot remember them, or we remember them so much that their events haunt us until our dying day.

This dream, my dear readers, will never be forgotten.

Jess stirred in the grass, trying to puzzle through just what he was seeing, and why it was so familiar. It was an odd dream, one you wouldn't expect a fourteen year old boy to be dreaming in any case.

And so it began, only to become stranger as it progressed…

**DREAM SEQUENCE**

"Leslie, come on!" A dark haired man that looked very much like Jess said. His hands were over a blonde woman's eyes, and for a moment the _real_ Jess almost woke up. He had dreamed about that woman before, a few months ago, just as the barrier began to tear. The man looked somewhat familiar as well, but the blonde woman, (because in actuality, she was a grown Leslie Burke.) had left much more of an impression on him.

And the fact that her name was Leslie only hurt his heart more.

"Where are we going?" She asked. The pair was walking along a woodland path, well beaten by years of sneakers treading it. There was no rope, and only the remains of a redwood bridge were there to mark an almost-fatal accident and a now abandoned magical kingdom.

"You'll see." The 'Other Jess' smiled.

"Ugh." Leslie sighed.

"Relax Les, just a few more steps and we're there, okay?"

He took the blonde by the hand and guided her across a fallen log. (In fact, it was the very same log Jess in the Real Earth helped Maybelle over when taking her to Terabithia for the first time.)

After she stepped off, he led her to the edge of the creek and smiled.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now." He smiled.

Leslie opened her eyes and smiled. "A boat? You're taking me on a boat ride?!"

"Mmm." He smiled, carefully stepping into the boat before holding out his hand to Leslie.

"But you hate boats!" She continued. "You know, after what happened with the rope…"

"Let's not bring that up on our anniversary, okay Les?" He smiled, causing Leslie to smile back.

"Okay, okay."

Suddenly, the dream fast-forwarded itself, shooting forward in time. When it slowed down again, the 'Real' Jess could see that the creek had narrowed quite a bit, and the dark haired man was having difficulty steering the boat around the sharp curves and edges. (Little did he know that the boat was only a few feet away from where the 'Real' Leslie had hit her head and died.)

"Uhh, Jess…" Leslie said slowly as her husband tried to manipulate the boat.

"Yeah?" He asked through semi gritted teeth.

"Shouldn't we turn around?"

"I wish we could, but our only way out is through those rocks."

Leslie turned backwards in the boat to look at the rocks. It was a close cluster of sharp, pointy boulders protruding from the quick moving murky water. The only way of passage was a narrow pass on the right side of the cluster, near the embankment. It was clearly large enough to manipulate the small rowboat through, but that didn't dampen Leslie's fear.

"T-they're s-so p-pointy." She stuttered, and her fingers absent-mindedly traveled to the light but jagged scar on her forehead. That scar was a product of rocks very similar to those they were about to pass through.

Jess smiled sympathetically and rubbed her knee. "Oh, don't worry Les. We'll make it. Look," He said, stopping the boat just before the pass. "There's nothing there to snag the boat on, anyway."

Leslie just nodded meekly and gripped the side of the boat.

_Get a hold of yourself, Leslie!_ She thought. _Jess can handle it. RELAX!_

Sadly, Leslie was wrong. While the pass may have been large enough for the boat to _fit_ through, no one above the surface could see the rocks beneath the water. They were like the rocks that showed themselves from the murky creek, only shorter, and if possible, sharper. The bank along the side of the creek was covered in gnarled vines that were sharp and painful, but they camouflaged like chameleons in the woodland area, so no one could see them.

As the simple, wooden rowboat made its way through the pass, one of the boulders beneath the water snagged the boards, creating a hole. A root on the embankment snagged the side, tearing it there as well. Leslie's eyes grew wide with panic as Jess tried to get the boat of the rocky, rushing waters, but it was too late. Every suttle movement just tore the wood planks more, and the boat was beginning to fill with murky creek water.

"What do we do?!" Leslie cried in panic, her face like a ghost.

The creek decided for them. With one final deathly **SNAP**, the rowboat disintegrated, the crack reminding both adults of that day, twenty or so years ago, when a rope had made a sound of death like that.

Only this time, no one was there to pull them out. The two fell into the rushing water, their heads coming in contact with the rocky bottom only seconds after the rapids pulled them under. The world went black with unconsciousness, and then, about a minute later, it went black with death.

The dream once more sped forward, this time showing a little brunette girl in the arms of an elderly woman. The girl, maybe about eight or nine years old, had been crying for a while, whimpering only two names.

"Mommy, Daddy. Mommy, Daddy!"

And that little girl would forever be in his brain, her face filled with tears. The dream soon ended, showing a translucent barrier falling away, leaving nothing but air between two planets.

**END DREAM SEQUENCE**

Jess jerked awake, sweaty and panting. He grabbed his sketchbook and began to draw the face of the little girl he had seen. When finished, he could only think of one name fitting enough for the subject he had drawn. So, flipping the paper over, he wrote her name is messy flourish.

_Samantha._

Still shaking mildly, he rose from the dirt, picture of the subject called Samantha under his arm. As he trudged back to his house, he couldn't help but wonder if that crying little girl missed her parents as much as he missed Leslie. He would've liked to give her a hug.

Little did he know that he would be seeing his subject soon enough, now that there was no barrier between the worlds…

_A/N: Hey everyone, sorry if that chapter was stinky. And MadTom, I am not just beating myself up! (Like I usually do.: D) I am currently sitting in bed and sneezing all over my laptop. Yes, I'm sick. I knew it wouldn't be my best or longest chapter, but I wanted to update for you guys, because you're all so nice to me. :)_

_Hope the whole "Dream Sequence" thing wasn't too confusing…Originally I was going to write the whole thing in italics, like I do for memories, but I decided against it, because I know that if I read too much italic writing I go blind…_

_Anyway, review-pauses to sneeze- please! _


	15. Chapter 15: The Letter

A/N: Thanks for the reviews

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Now that the barrier has broken, everything will be referred to as "The New Earth"._

**Chapter 15:**

**The Letter**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

_**Arlington, Virginia, the home of Judy Parkington-Burke & her granddaughter, Samantha Aarons.**_

Samantha sat motionless in the guest room. Well, it wasn't the guest room anymore, really. It was her room now. But it didn't feel like her bedroom in Williamsburg, and it never would. For one thing, it looked _nothing_ like her room at home. It didn't have her clothes or bed or dresser or anything homey. And when she looked out her window, she didn't see the house of her friend Loren. No, she saw Mr. McClain's house, not Loren McConnell's. Mr. McClain was about ninety two years old, and he smelled like oatmeal, mouthwash, and moldy raisins. Not that Samantha minded rather smelly old men; usually she would scold herself for making fun of Mr. McClain's unintentional body odor, but now she hated anyone or anything that reminded her that she would never again get in her parents' car and drive back to their little yellow house in Williamsburg. She would forever stay in Arlington with Grandma Judy, start at a new school, be forced to make new friends. She would loose Loren; she would never hear those stories of her parents as children that her mother had promised her.

Everything she knew and loved was gone.

Fighting tears again, she decided to read the notebook on Terabithia's history. She was just about to rise from her bed to find it when a soft knock came on the door.

"Sam, its Grandma Judy. Can I come in?"

_Of course I know who it is! _Samantha thought bitterly. _Who else could it be? _

No one, of course. But that didn't stop her from hoping that it was her Mom and Daddy, apologizing. Saying that the whole death thing was a mistake, and everything was alright. Her mother would say: 'Pack that suitcase, Sammy, we're going home!'

But that would never happen.

She sighed and tried viciously to wipe the tears from her eyes before answering her grandmother.

"Come in. But only if you know my name is _Samantha_, not Sam."

Judy didn't answer. There was only an impatient sigh from the other side of the door before she spoke.

"I know you miss your parents, honey, but an attitude with me isn't going to change anything. You know that. Now come on, we've got some things to pick up."

After the old lady's footsteps faded, Samantha finally rose, sliding her feet into a pair of flip-flops and bracing herself for whatever grief would meet her today.

Judy and Samantha had been driving for a half an hour, the only noise in the car coming from the oldies music that was playing softly on the radio. Judy peered at her granddaughter from the rearview mirror of her old Buick. The little girl was slumped in the corner of the cracked leather seat, forehead pressed against the window, staring out at the cars that zoomed by on the roads.

"Sweetie, are you sure you don't want to sit up front? You're big enough now, I think." Judy asked lightly, in hopes of warming up the icy atmosphere that had filled the car in a matter of seconds.

"I'm fine." She replied curtly, fully restoring the icy mood. A few more minutes of stony silence passed before Judy decided to try to reach out to her granddaughter again.

"Samantha, honey…school will be starting soon, and I was thinking…I might have to put you down as Samantha _Parkington _on the sign-up sheet, since that's the name I took, and I'm now your guardian. Is that alright with you?"

Samantha felt her temper rising. The anger, the sadness, the change, the undeniable truth…it was all so much. And now she would be someone else to this new…world. She wouldn't be Samantha Aarons anymore. She would be Samantha Parkington. She would be the girl who lost her parents and lived with her grandma.

She would be the one who was alone.

A cool damp rain broke out on the windshield, turning the soft music to soft static.

"Oh, just what I need!" Judy huffed, speeding the Buick up so she could attempt to pass a semi-truck. The rain began to fall harder as a few men on motorcycles cut in front of the Buick.

Judy began mumbling under her breath about "Hooligans" and "Rain Really Does Put a Damper on Things" and "Did I Bring Enough Boxes?"

_Boxes? _Samantha thought. For the first time since realizing she would be permanently living with her Grandma, she felt that feeling that she had felt her first night in Arlington. The feeling that told her that something utterly fantastic was about to happen.

Leaning her head against the window, she watched the rain drip steadily along the glass. It was so soothing. And before she had a chance to contemplate the need for boxes, she was asleep.

Samantha had been asleep for forty five minutes. She woke groggily as the old car made its way over an obstacle in the road. Blinking her eyes sleepily, she looked at a sign on the road. She was instantly awake as she read the first word.

**Williamsburg: 9.5 Mi.**

_Williamsburg?! We can't be going home, I mean, MY home. Can we?_

Deciding to play what her mother called the "Nancy Drew Card", she pretended to be asleep until the car pulled onto an all-too-familiar street.

Her street.

Leaving her ideas of sleuthing in the dust, she spoke to her grandmother. "Grandma? Why…" Samantha couldn't continue to speak. Judy smile sympathetically in the mirror.

"We're here to get your stuff, sweetheart." She smiled, but something told Samantha they weren't here for just her things. She remembered something Loren had told her after her grandmother died.

"_People always go to the house of the dead person to pick up their things." Loren had said._

"_Really? Why?"_

"_To look for the will or something. We're doing that at my grandma's next week."_

That's why they were here. To find the will of her parents. This would prove to everyone that Jesse Aarons and Leslie Burke-Aarons were dead, and Judy Burke would forever be responsible for her granddaughter.

"Come on, sweetie." Judy said, snapping Samantha out of her reverie. "Better get inside before the rain starts again."

"O-okay." She stuttered and slid numbly out of the back seat and up the walk to the colonial brick house she knew so well. Judy slid her hand under the mat and found the key. It slid into the lock and gave a homey sounding _'click'_ before the big oak door swung open on its own, and a stony cold silence greeted the two on the porch.

Samantha moved numbly into the house. No one was there. It was just an empty, dead, cold shell of a previously happy life. Like a zombie, she moved to her favorite room in the house: the library.

The Aarons family library had quite a history. When Jesse and Leslie had bought the house a few years before Samantha was born, it had been and office. No one really used it, except for Leslie on occasion. (to do her writing, sometimes. But mostly she liked to write in the living room) After Samantha was born; it became a playroom/den, and was used until she turned six, and discovered her love of reading. After many pleas from his wife and daughter, Jess turned the space into the comfy library and office space that it was now.

Samantha fled into the comforting room, expecting to be folded in a warm, cinnamon smelling haven filled with memories. Instead she was greeted with a musty, uninhabited room of grief and longing. Every piece of the normally cozy furniture seemed hollow and hard, as if it knew the house's owners were forever gone. Eyes filled with tears of loss, she couldn't make out the dominant shape of the sturdy cherry desk, and her shoulder collided with it, knocking her to the ground. She groveled for something to hold to stop herself from falling, but she only managed to bring a pile of papers down with her as she fell onto her back.

Landing with an impressive "oomph", Samantha lay on her back for a moment before sitting up and removing the papers from her face.

From what she could see, all the papers she had pulled off the desk were bills. Sighing, she placed the bills in a neat pile by her leg. Grandma Judy would want them. However, when she reached the bottom of the pile, she found a letter.

Addressed to her.

Hands trembling, she opened the never-before-touched envelope. And out fell a piece of paper explaining everything she wanted to know.

_Dear Sam,_

_I honestly don't know how to begin this letter. Your mother is the writer, not me. I know you've been wanting to know what happened to my family. Your family. They are your family too, Sammy, no matter what my mother may say. But I'm getting ahead of myself. In order for you to understand just what happened with my family, we have to go back to when I was a boy._

_Growing up, I lived with my Mom and Dad and my four sisters, two were older than me, and two were younger. Ellie and Brenda were the oldest, and then came me, Maybelle, and finally, Joyce Ann. My Dad was a farmer, and money was always tight. Poor Mom was constantly battling Dad's temper and her own worries. Everyone always said our family was going to snap one day, and snap we did. But no one had the chance to until my father died._

_My Dad died a few months before you were born. He was always battling heart problems and numerous other things because of the years he smoked and drank and over worked himself. Not many people would think that Jack Aarons would hold his family together. But he did. For whatever reason he kept things somewhat civil in our cramped little house. Maybe it was that he was the safe place for "Daddy's Little Girls", or he kept my mother's own temper at peace. I really don't know. But there was something about that man that salvaged us all. It was because of my father that I was the only one who didn't snap. In a strange way, he helped me meet my first real friend. My best friend. Who later became your mother. My father helped me meet Leslie Burke. _

_It was because of Leslie that I didn't snap during my childhood or teenage years, or the year following his death. Leslie was always there, she always would be, and for that reason I had the stability that no one else in my family had._

_Ellie, my oldest sister, began the path to breaking down long before we could see it coming. She began acting in school productions at age ten, and was quite good. She starred in all of the productions in her high school years. One day, a talent scout came to the school and saw Ellie perform. He loved her, and offered her the lead role in a television series he was developing. My Dad didn't like the idea, and forbade her from accepting it. It killed my sister inside. She couldn't see why he would do this to her. She begged my mother to talk to him, but she wouldn't. My mother had always been pushed around by my father, and she couldn't bring herself to defend any of the children. (Dad always spared Maybelle, she was his princess, and Joyce Ann was a baby) _

_So Ellie ran away. She refused to keep in contact with any of the family, so we could only see my eldest sister on TV._

_Brenda broke down a few weeks after Dad was diagnosed with diabetes. Her long-time boyfriend, Jake Baker, got her pregnant. When her pregnancy was confirmed, he left her, his leaving resulting in Brenda getting pregnant three more times, with different guys. She took the two babies she had and moved to New York, rarely speaking to any of us. After living in New York for a year, she had her third and last baby._

_I married your mother two years before your Grandpa Jack died. Two months before you were born, he died, and that's when everything fully fell apart._

_We went back to Lark Creek, my hometown, for Dad's funeral. My mother was a mess, and so was Joyce Ann. Ellie and Brenda didn't come, and Maybelle was oddly calm. Your Mom and Aunt Joyce Ann and I tried to make Maybelle take time for herself. And she did. She took so much time for herself, however, that she neglected us and her responsibilities…_

"Where have I heard that before?" She said aloud.

"What was that, sweetie?" Judy called.

"Oh…it's nothing." Samantha called back and continued reading, unaware that she had heard the story of her Grandpa Jack's death and the consequences that came with it from her own mother a few weeks ago.

_And I got mad at her for it. _The letter continued. _I don't know why, but I did. And she got mad back. Eventually we got off the subject of our father and went back to things that we hadn't fought about since we were kids, like dislodged Barbie heads. We were so angry and hurt and grief stricken that we took it out on one another, and at the end of the argument we got so angry and prideful that we couldn't speak to each other again._

_Your Grandma Mary is another story all together, one I won't write here. It's more personal, because we know where my mother is, and we don't know where Maybelle or Ellie are. _

_I hope this helps you sweetie. Sorry for not telling you sooner, but it seems that I was finally able to write this down for you. I'm here to talk if you need me._

_Love,_

_Dad_

"You're not here now, Daddy." She whispered, and rose to help her grandmother gather her things. She wished that just once, she would be able to see her aunt Maybelle, so that she might know her as Samantha Lydia Aarons, her niece, not Jesse and Leslie's daughter.

She would soon get her wish.

**A/N: Not particularly pleased with this chapter. While all of you knew what happened with Jesse's family from Leslie's bedtime story a few chapters back, Samantha doesn't. Had she known about the "feud" from the start, I would've left this chapter out. But the argument between the other earth Jess and Maybelle is very important later in the story, so Samantha knowing of her family history is crucial. The family problems mentioned, however, (Brenda's pregnancies, sibling feuds, Mary not standing up for her children) are very realistic to me, as they have happened. (If you have recently read the chapter 'Pre-Bedtime Story' you will notice Leslie makes mention of Mary taking advantage of Samantha's youth. That too, has happened to me) so this letter IS important, but not for a few more chapters. This "letter" was particularly hard to write, as I wrote it over a period of five days. I usually like to write my chapters in one sitting so I don't lose my train of thought. Anyway, that's all I have to say. :) **

**-Emily**


	16. Chapter 16: Judy's Day in Town

A/N: Well I really don't know what to say here, other than thanks for the reviews

_A/N: Well I really don't know what to say here, other than thanks for the reviews! :) Oh, this is a very short but important later._

**Chapter 16:**

**Judy's Day in Town**

_**The New Earth**_

**Arlington, Virginia, the home of Judy Parkington-Burke & Samantha Aarons**

**8:00 AM**

Judy moved quietly through the halls of her home, tiptoeing almost noiselessly past Samantha's bedroom. Her granddaughter was still asleep, and taped to the door of the little girl's room was a note from her grandmother.

_Good morning, Sweetheart! _

_Went into town at about eight, gotta run some errands & I didn't want to wake you. Be back by ten or so, call if you need anything. (My cell number is on the fridge) There's cereal and milk in the kitchen. Don't use the stove, you know the other rules. :) See you soon!_

_Love,_

_Grandma_

As the elderly woman slipped out her front door and locked it, she said a silent thank-you. She didn't really know who she was thanking, (Bill and Judy hadn't accepted the Lord like their daughter had.) but she figured whoever it was deserved one. Had Samantha been awake, her errands would've been exceedingly difficult, if not impossible.

Climbing into her car, she turned the ignition and slowly backed out of her driveway. A To-Do list lay in the passenger's seat. She had looked over that list so many times that she could say it out loud.

"One: Go to the market for eggs and cheese. Two: See about signing Sam up for school. And finally…Go to Mr. Collins' law office to see about guardianship and Jesse and Leslie's will."

The Buick ambled along the highway. Though it was early, the city streets were heavy with traffic. As she pulled into the Albertson's parking lot, a splitting headache filled her. It felt as if someone was trying to rip her in half.

And they were succeeding.

Letting out a small moan of pain, Judy rubbed her temples as she walked into the store. The eggs and cheese were forgotten as she made her way to the pharmacy counter for some Aspirin. The teenage girl behind the counter popped her gum lazily as she half-handed half-tossed the box of pills into Judy's hands, and she stuffed the bills hastily into the cash register, the money wadded into a crude ball.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes like a bratty child, Judy took her medicine and stormed away, head throbbing more than ever. She bought a bottle of water from the vending machine and went back to her car, ripping the Aspirin package open and throwing two of the slippery capsules into her mouth, downing half of her water with them.

As she headed towards her next stop, her mind wandered to her headache. It had dulled somewhat, but it was still there, and she was feeling very lethargic, something she had never before experienced. It wasn't like the drowsy feeling that came with some medicines, it was different, more excruciating. It felt as though a pair of very strong hands was yanking on each and every one of her muscles, trying to turn them into thin, flat pancakes.

Suddenly, Judy was struck by a memory. Leslie used to get migraine headaches all the time. Tears sprung to her eyes for the first time in weeks. In a desperate attempt to not cry, she drove right past the school, not aware that she had, even as the building whizzed past her window.

Edward Collins' law office was a few blocks from the school, and Judy drove dutifully to it as though she were a robot returning to its base for a long-awaited charge.

Judy's appointment was the first of the day, so therefore the parking lot was deserted. (This was probably a blessing, as she was feeling ill and was lost in thought. If anyone had been driving in the lot, the poor lady would've most likely collided with them.) Moving like a zombie into the crisp brick office building, she headed to the front desk.

"Name?" The receptionist said in a monotonous voice.

"Judy Burke." She said numbly.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, you're not in the schedule." The receptionist droned.

She just stood by the desk.

"Ma'am? Ma'am!" The woman rose from her chair and clapped her hands in front of Judy's face. This snapped her out of her daze.

"Oh, I'm…sorry."

"Sure you are." The receptionist replied sarcastically and began filing her nails, reminding Judy of the obnoxious teenager in the grocery store. Trying her best to keep a chipper attitude, she spoke again.

"It may be under Judy Parkington, or Parkington-Burke, maybe even Judith or Burke-Parkington. I have an eight-thirty appointment with Jonathan Hancock."

"How many times you been married, lady? Thirty-seven?! With all those names you'd think so." The snotty woman mumbled under her breath, though Judy could hear her perfectly fine. Resisting the urge to ask if she had some form of teenage relation that worked at Albertson's, she tried to remain pleasant. Getting angry wouldn't be good for her headache.

"Where should I wait for Mr. Hancock?" She asked politely, but the smoothness in her voice was dying.

"I'll call him right now." The receptionist snapped, and she irritably pressed a button on her desk phone.

"Yes, Linda?" the warm voice of a man came crackly over the speaker.

"Your eight-thirty's here, sir. Judy or Judith something-and-something."

"Ahh, I know who she is. Send her in."

"She's being sent in, sir." Turning off the speaker, the snappy blonde woman waggled her hand in the direction of a hallway.

"Twenty-two D." She managed before returning to her nails.

Once more resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Judy nodded curtly before heading in the direction Linda had pointed out. Thankfully, twenty-two D was one of the first doors. Knocking softly, she called out.

"Mr. Hancock? It's Judy Parkington, your eight-thirty."

"Ah, come in, come in!" A very deep, friendly voice boomed from inside.

Opening the door, Judy found herself in a tidy, small, quaint office that smelled of oranges. The walls were painted a friendly blue, and the furniture was comfortable looking.

"Ms. Parkington! I've been expecting you! Please, sit."

Judy felt a wave of relief upon meeting the cheery Mr. Hancock. Sitting across from his desk, she smiled.

"Hello, Mr. Hancock. Please, call me Judy."

"Well then, Judy, if we're on a first name basis, please call me Jonathan."

"Hello, Jonathan." Judy smiled, but grimaced as her headache returned.

"Judy, we've gone through your daughter and son-in-law's will, as you asked."

"Who's Samantha's guardian?" She asked breathlessly.

"Ahh, here we are… 'the guardianship of Samantha Lydia Aarons is left to Maybelle Christine Aarons, firstly, and secondly to William Earnest Burke and his wife, Judith Parkington-Burke.'"

"Maybelle?" Judy repeated. Why would Jesse and Leslie give _Maybelle_ their daughter?

"Yes. Right here it says Maybelle Christine Aarons. How is she related to your family?"

"She's Jesse's, -Samantha's father's- younger sister. But Maybelle hasn't spoken to Jesse or my daughter in eight years! _Why _would they give her Samantha?"

"I don't know _why_, all I know is that unless she turns the position down, Maybelle Aarons will be Samantha's legal guardian. I'm going to see if I can locate her…" Jonathan typed some things in on a computer.

"Hmm, that's strange…"

"What's strange?"

"Judy, our computer database can find anyone in the world with just a hair of information. And yet, we have almost all the info on Maybelle Aarons, and it's failing."

"How do you know it's failing?"

"Do you know what year Maybelle was born in?"

"Jesse's sister would be twenty seven, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, the only Maybelle Christine Aarons I can find is an eight year old girl living in Lark Creek, Virginia."

_A/N: DUN-DUN-DUN!! :) So we know for sure the barrier broke, and the only person in the WORLD that has the root of Maybelle is eight years old…Ooh, creepy! I hope you enjoyed that. Probably won't update for five or so days, as I am getting a new horse tomorrow and will have to dedicate most of my time to that. :) Oh, Judy's "Illness" plays an important role later, I promise! (I wanted to add the snotty salesgirl because I encountered one of those today…)_


	17. Chapter 17: The Pains

A/N: I'm very glad you guys liked the cliffhanger

_A/N: I'm very glad you guys liked the cliffhanger! :) Here's the next chapter! Oh, for you loyal book readers: A while back, MadTom pointed out that Judy's maiden name in the book is Hancock. However, since I wanted to draw back to the "American Girls" series character, I changed her name to Parkington. But I decided to make Jonathan's last name Hancock in honor of the book. :) The first paragraph or so is in italics because it's a recap of what happened last chapter._

**Chapter 17:**

**Pains **

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Arlington, Virginia, the Law Offices of Edward Collins, Suite 22-D, Jonathan Hancock's office**

"_That's odd…" Jonathan mumbled as he typed on his computer._

"_What's odd?" Asked Judy._

"_How old was Jesse?" The lawyer asked suddenly._

"_Thirty. As was my daughter."_

"_I see. Do you happen to know how many years younger Maybelle is?"_

"_Three, I believe."_

"_So she would be twenty seven, correct?"_

"_Most likely, yes."_

"_Judy…the software on this computer is extremely powerful and complex. It can find anyone in the world with just a hair of information. Here we have all the information on Maybelle Aarons, and yet… it's failing."_

"_How is it failing, Jonathan?" Judy asked, curious._

"_It's saying the only Maybelle Christine Aarons in the WORLD is an eight year old little girl, residing in Lark Creek, Virginia."_

Judy was un-phased at first. After all, technology often failed, right? That's why she didn't have a computer or TV or any of that nonsense. It killed brain cells and was prone to breaking.

"Software fails often, doesn't it?" Judy questioned.

"Yes, but it shouldn't…I'll call assistance in." Jonathan obliged, pressing a button on his phone. "Linda, page Chris Markey, tell him there's a problem in suite twenty-two D, please."

A few minutes later, a middle-aged red-haired man came into the room, carrying a toolbox filled with wires and cables and wrenches.

"I'll run some system processes, John." Chris smiled, and Jonathan complied, removing himself from his chair so that his friend could work.

After a few minutes of muttering to himself and typing on the keyboard, a confused look crossed Chris's face.

"Nothing's wrong with the software. What exactly happened, anyway?"

"I was searching for a twenty-seven year old woman named Maybelle Aarons. We have almost all of her information, and yet, it's saying the only Maybelle Christine Aarons in the world is an eight year old little girl."

"Hmm, that _is_ weird." Chris agreed, and went back to the system.

"Is it possible…" Judy began, and the repair man looked up, his eyes welcoming.

"Is it possible that Maybelle married, and her last name changed?"

"We'd still have her maiden name locked in, and the system would tell us if her name had changed." Chris replied as his cheery brown eyes returned to the screen.

Judy sat in awe for a few moments, marveling over the vast wonders that the software could do. Maybe, just maybe, technology wasn't so bad after all. She was pondering this when a horribly sickening thought entered her mind.

"Is it possible…" She said again, and this time both Jonathan and Chris looked at her.

"Is it possible that the reason you can't find her is because she might've…_died_? I mean, we really wouldn't know where she was, or if she was alive, as she hasn't spoken to my daughter or son-in-law in eight years, let alone me or my granddaughter. She stopped speaking to our side of the family two months before Samantha was even born."

"It's a very small possibility, but also a very unlikely one. I doubt anything has happened to the woman, but if the glitch continues, and it says that the only Maybelle Aarons in the world is an eight year old, Samantha will be left with you, as it would be illegal to leave a little girl in the care of an aunt that is her age. This tune-up could take a while. Why don't you head on home, and I'll call you when this is straightened out."

While Judy wanted to shout: "No! I'm not leaving until I know what's happening to my granddaughter!" She didn't. All she did was nod politely and rise somewhat numbly, fighting a sudden pain in her abdomen.

As she exited the building, the pain grew, almost as if a pair of invisible hands was trying to rip her very soul in half.

_Probably just my indigestion acting up again. _She decided as she started her car, and made a mental note to call her doctor after the custody problem was solved. However, the pain proceeded until she drove home, and for a moment, she thought to call her doctor right as she got home. Then she reconsidered. After all, if it was indigestion, it should go away with an Advil and a nap. And if it was nothing at all, the only thing she would be doing is wasting money and creating unnecessary stress for herself and Samantha.

Deciding to ignore the pain for the time being, Judy let herself into her house, then heading straight down the hallway to her granddaughter's bedroom. The little girl was obviously awake because the note was gone from the door and light could be seen through the crack. As she lifted her hand to knock, she could make out the faint sounds of Hannah Montana music coming from the other side. Smiling a half smile, she removed her fist from the door and tip-toed away, quiet as a mouse. She wouldn't trouble Samantha just yet. She just might be returning to the old Samantha she had been before her parents had died.

Deciding that solitude was the best thing at the moment, Judy headed back to her kitchen to make some coffee. When she reached the room, however, her horrible stomach and head pain joined forces. Stumbling backwards is a dizzy, painful blur; she gripped a chair for balance. Clapping her hand to her forehead as the dizziness slowed, Judy let out a small moan. Coffee forgotten, she stumbled to get a glass of water, taking it with her to her bedroom. Finding a box of medicine, she took out a pill and swallowed it before lying down on her bed.

As the medicine worked, Judy became drowsy, and the pain, while still there, had dulled a great deal. She could still remember what the pain had felt like, as though a pair of ghostly hands had been trying to pull her very soul apart.

"Just…indigestion…" She slurred before slipping into a woozy slumber. It was mainly dreamless, except for one short, strange dream, which could only be called a dream if you used the term loosely.

It was a black, empty space, the dream consisting of an exert from a book Bill had written once.

_And as the travelers' minds ventured back into the land of the hourglass, they felt a great pain. It felt as though a pair of invisible hands were ripping them in half, and it hurt so badly that they became dizzy, and Betsy began to cry…_

The passage ended with the sound of wind echoing in the darkness, but soon another paragraph began.

_It was sad that Thomas and Betsy and Timothy had this pain, but it was necessary. Because the land in the hourglass was a world all its own, its own reality. And having yourself live in two realities required pain, because it meant your soul was split in half…_

And so the strange dream ended, with Judy in a horrible state of sleep and wake. So, when Samantha called her ten minutes later, she was relieved.

--

"Grandma Judy, phone for you." Samantha said softly. She was standing by the bed, her grandmother's sleep un-phased by her soft call. Stepping away from the bed, she put the receiver to her ear again, whispering into it.

"Just a minute please, sir." Samantha whispered before putting the phone to the wooden floor.

Going back to the bed, she laid a hand on the old woman's shoulder.

_Please let her be okay. Let her be taking a nap. She can't be sick, or…_

Shivering, she ignored the tears pricking the back of her eyes and shook her grandma's shoulder.

"Grandma Judy," She repeated, louder this time. "Wake up."

This woke her. She rolled over groggily and yawned.

"Hello sweetie. What do you need?" She yawned, rubbing her eyes and propping herself up on the pillows.

"There's some man on the phone for you. A Jonathan something…"

"Hancock?" Judy supplied. "Is it Jonathan Hancock?"

"I think so…" Samantha mumbled before picking up the phone and handing it to her grandmother. "Here." And the girl scampered from the room.

"Hello?" Judy yawned into the receiver. "Judy Parkington speaking."

"Ah, Judy! Glad to finally speak to you. It's Jonathan, by the way."

"Yes, Samantha told me it was you." She answered rather monotonously, trying not to be frazzled by the attorney's energetic attitude.

"Samantha…your granddaughter?"

Unable to speak at this level of exhaustion, she only mumbled a barely coherent "Mmm."

"Well, she is a charming young lady."

"Thank you. Now Jonathan, I don't mean to be forward, but…"

"You want to know who gets guardianship over the charming young lady?" The overly energetic attorney laughed.

"Yes, please." Judy said dryly. She was tired, and rather annoyed by the man's hyper attitude. How someone could laugh while discussing custody of a child was beyond her.

Thankfully, Jonathan became serious again. "Well, no matter what we did to that software-reboot, new computer, technical support- the only Maybelle Aarons we could find is that eight year old."

She perked up. "So…does that mean…"

"Yes, you will be Samantha's legal guardian."

"Oh! Thank you!" She cried, and felt happy tears stinging her eyes.

"My pleasure. Come by the office on Tuesday so you can sign the papers."

"Oh, I will. Thank you so much!" Judy said happily, and hung up the phone.

As she headed out of her room, she felt a rush of relief.

Everything would be alright.

_A/N: This one was a bit of a filler chapter, setting up for things to come. Thanks to Ying Shan Hong, your review helped me out! We'll see what you suggested in time… :) Also, that novel that Bill "wrote" is not a real novel, I just made the exerts up for this chapter. Sorry for keeping you waiting! The power cord to my laptop broke, and then my computer died. I had to wait three days for a new one. Anyway, please review! _


	18. Chapter 18: The Ad

A/N: Well, it's been awhile since I updated

_A/N: Well, it's been awhile since I updated! But here it is…_

**Chapter 18:**

**The Ad**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Arlington, Virginia, the home of Judy Parkington-Burke & Samantha Aarons**

Mid-August of that year eagerly welcomed September. The rain rarely seemed to stop _anywhere_ in Virginia, angering many farmers in small remote towns around Arlington.

Samantha and Judy, however, were not angered by the weather. In fact, the found comfort in being confined to their home, and soon everything was becoming more relaxed and natural, including Samantha.

One particular stormy Sunday morning, the house was oddly quiet. Normally they were playing games or singing funny songs, (Since she also lacked a stereo.) but today the only sound was the rain pattering on the shingles. Judy was doing the bills in the dining room, and Samantha was there also - curled up on the window seat that followed the circular shape of the room – watching the rain.

"Grandma?"

"Yes dear?" Judy said, barely looking up from her bills.

"Did we get the paper today?"

While Judy was baffled by her granddaughter's request, she was too involved in her work to question her.

"On the coffee table, Sam."

"Thanks." And with the smallest smile etched on her face, Samantha went to do something she hadn't done since the death of her parents.

_LATER THAT EVENING…_

The rain had ceased to stop the whole day, the thunder only growing louder as the evening progressed. It was late now, nearly midnight. Samantha had been in bed for quite a few hours, (though she had just now fallen asleep. She had spent the other three under her sheet with a flashlight, working on her project.) And Judy was finishing her shower, about ready to go bid her granddaughter one final goodnight before going to sleep herself.

Creeping silently down the silent, dark hallway, Judy pushed the door to the little girl's bedroom open and found the desk lamp still on, a soft and warm glow filling the room. Newspaper clippings covered the floor, and the bed sheet, half covering a spiral notebook that lay on the sleeping child's stomach. Samantha's dark locks were spread out messily on the propped up pillow, mixing with even more newspaper bits.

Shaking her head, Judy scooped up the mess on the floor and set it on the desk. She moved to her grandchild, removing the clippings from the sheets and placing them on the table also. Next she picked up the notebook, pausing to glance at the open page.

It was a medley of newspaper clippings taped to the page, the day's date written crisply in the corner. She had cut out hunks out the classified ads, pictures of houses and rooms and descriptions, the best parts about certain homes circled in pencil.

Puzzled, the elderly woman flipped to the front cover of the notebook. Sure enough, the girl had written a title on the cover with Sharpie marker:

**My Dream House Notebook**

Smiling to herself, a few misty tears filled Judy's eyes as she was once again reminded of how much the brunette girl was like her late mother. Leslie had always written in notebooks too, her bedroom in both Lark Creek and Arlington had been filled with them. Bill would always say: "She writes because she doesn't have enough room in her head for all that imagination."

After they moved to Lark Creek and she met Jess, both parents noticed that Leslie's notebooks had decreased. Bill suggested that the books had been journals, and now that she had a friend the need and desire for them had dwindled. (He was somewhat right; some of the notebooks _had _been journals, and since she had Jess she didn't feel that she couldn't trust anyone with her true self. But most of them were stories, stories that Jess illustrated for her, stories that were kept in the Terabithian fortress for safe keeping.)

As Judy returned the book to the desk, she pondered whether she should tell Samantha that her bedroom had at one point been Leslie's. Too tried to re-open her grief, she pushed the thought to the very back of her mind and resumed caring for her granddaughter.

Clearing the last bit of newsprint from the pillow, Judy pulled the cushion down flat against the mattress, Samantha's body complying easily with the movement as her head followed her pillow. Her left arm draped over the edge of the bed and the flashlight rolled lightly from her once closed hand, dropping unheeded to the floor, thumping lightly to the ground as the plastic came in contact with the hardwood. Judy pulled Samantha's arm back into bed and covered her with the sheet and the quilt. Kissing the sleeper's forehead, the old woman picked the flashlight up from the floor and turned it off, placing it on the desk. She groaned quietly as her groggy and careless motion with the flashlight knocked the news clippings to the floor. Mumbling to herself she scooped up almost all the papers in one hand, throwing them rather angrily onto the desk again.

There were only a few remaining scraps on the floor. Picking them up, her eye caught one of them.

No, no, it couldn't be. Still, as she left her granddaughter's bedroom, the ad remained in her hand, and she read it when she entered her own bedroom.

_1977 White Farmhouse_

_Two stories, 5 bedroom, 3 bath_

_Good square-footage_

_No vermin_

_Solid foundation_

_Garden_

_Near a creek_

_School bus stop right out of driveway_

_100, 000 Dollars_

_Call Phil Banks_

_(818) 999-1001_

_LARK CREEK REALITY_

_(House located at 55 Cumberland Drive, Lark Creek Virginia.)_

And there was her old Lark Creek farm house, old and run-down as ever. And if that wasn't proof enough, the room the photograph showed was their living room.

The Golden Room.

**A/N: That wasn't my FAVORITE chapter ever, but it turned out better than the other ten times I wrote it. :) I really did write it ten times. This is version eleven. I promise the next chapter will be better! Sorry I took so long to update, I have been very busy with life, re-writing this chapter ten times as well as working on a novel of my own brainchild that I want to submit for publication. Again, sorry it was so awful and short, I promise chapter nineteen will be better, longer, and posted sooner! :)**

**-Emily**


	19. Chapter 19: Judy's Decision

A/N: Hi everybody

_A/N: Hi everybody! Told you I'd update quicker. :) Sorry, looks like this one will be a short one too. Oh by the way…I had the Burke's Lark Creek house be made in 1977 because that was the year "Bridge to Terabithia" was published. :)_

**Chapter 19:**

**Judy's Decision **

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**The home of Judy Parkington-Burke and Samantha Aarons**

It was early the next morning. 6:45 AM, to be exact. Again the rain was falling, though lighter than the day before. Judy was in her robe and slippers, having her morning coffee. Samantha was still in bed.

Finishing off her drink, she sighed and carried the mug to the sink. As she set the cup in the basin, her eyes wandered to the small bulletin board that hung over the counter. And there, pinned smack-dab in the middle of the cork was the ad, the ad showing Judy's old home, the home which she had lived in until her husband died; the home where her daughter had almost drowned, where her daughter had been rescued from death by her best friend, the very best friend who was the father of the little orphan girl who was now her responsibility.

She sighed again. Life really _could _change in the blink of an eye.

Almost like a robot, Judy pulled the ad from the board and stared at it, three lines of the description pulling her eyes to them like magnets.

_1977 White Farmhouse_

_House Located at 55 Cumberland Drive, Lark Creek, Virginia_

_(818) 999-1001_

Moving once more like a zombie, she looked at the price on the slip of newsprint.

One hundred thousand dollars. She sighed. She _did_ have that much…

_No, Judy, NO! _She scolded herself. _That's your life savings! And you have a house._

Another thought entered her head, edging her to call the number.

_But once you sell your house, you could re-stock your savings…_

At last a side won, and she picked her phone and dialed Lark Creek Reality.

--

"Hello, Lark Creek Reality. Sue speaking." A secretary answered after the phone had rung five times.

"Hello. I'd like to speak to a Mr. Phil Banks regarding the 1977 farmhouse, please."

"No problem, Ma'am."

A few moments later, a man's voice came over the receiver.

"Phillip Banks speaking. How may I help you?"

"Oh, hello Mr. Banks…"

"What can I do for you, Ma'am?" Judy couldn't help but notice that the man sounded just a bit impatient.

"I'm interested in the 1977 farmhouse on 55 Cumberland Drive."

"Well, you're the first. Nobody's shown interest in that dump for six months; when old man Aster put it up on the market."

_Aster. Oh yes, George Aster! The angry gentleman I sold the house to. _Judy thought.

"You don't say." She asked rather lazily, annoyed with the salesman's bored attitude.

"So, ya willing to come down and look at it, Ms. …"

"Parkington. Judith Parkington."

"Well then, Judith Parkington, when can I expect you?"

"Wednesday, at noon, I'm hoping."

"Wednesday? _This_ Wednesday?"

"Is there a problem with me coming then, Mr. Banks?"

"Oh, no…no, there's no problem, Ms. Parkington. I'm just surprised to see you so interested."

"I have an eight year old granddaughter that is now my responsibility, sir. If I'm to make sure she gets a good education, I'm going to have to get her in school, no matter where we live, aren't I?"

Phil, however, completely ignored Judy's statement and pounced on her with yet another rude comment.

"So, ya got a kid, huh?"

"A granddaughter, yes." She answered, glad she could roll her eyes and no one would see.

_Though at this point, I don't necessarily want the high opinion of this man. _Judy admitted to herself.

"She a brat?" Phil continued.

"Excuse me?!"

"I said: She a brat? Cause the house; it's got some neighbors across the street. They got, oh; I dunno…five or six kids? Aster says every one of them are brats. So I figured…maybe if your grandkid is a brat, they'd get along real well, ya know?"

_Mary Aarons must of sold the house, if they have kids around Samantha's age. _

Suddenly another splitting headache came, and Judy grimaced in pain.

"Mr. Banks, I'm not feeling well. I have to go. I'll see you or somebody on Wednesday at noon. Goodbye."

And she hung up the phone before Phillip Banks could utter another word about bratty children, George Aster, or any neighbors.

"I almost wish Mary and her daughters were still in that house. I miss Jess and his, no, _my_ family. They were Leslie's family. Oh, I hope Sam finds some comfort in them. I hope they're a nice family."

They would be a nice family, indeed. At that point in time, anyway. Because as they all grew older, only one family member would remain kind and true to himself.

And when that man grew up, he would do some exceptional things with his life. The things he would do had all been altered since the death of his best friend, but it was because of that friend, that girl, that Jesse Oliver Aarons' life would be exceptional.

Now, some of you may be wondering: "I wonder what would have happened to Jesse Oliver Aarons if his best friend had lived."

Fortunately for you readers, I know the answer to that particular question.

Had Leslie Burke not died, she and Jesse would have grown up, fallen in love, (both of them, not just him this time.) and gotten married. A few years after they married, Leslie would have had a baby.

A blue-green eyed brunette, named Samantha.

**A/N: That chapter was fun to write, I enjoyed writing about the obnoxious Phillip Banks. He **_**had **_**to be obnoxious; it'll all fall into play a little bit later. (Note to G-Matt: I have seen a few episodes of **_**The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, **_**but I didn't name the real-estate agent after Will's uncle. It was just a coincidence!) It won't be obvious, but maybe you'll figure it out. ;) Sorry if it was a bit repetitive that the fourteen year old Jess and his daughter were alive at the same time, I just wanted to make sure you all understood. We're almost done with the boring filler information, and then we'll get to the fun climax! I'm excited. :) **

**Oh, by the way, when I said that both of them would fall in love, not just Jess, I was referring to what director Gabor Csupo said about the "Rain Scene" and how Jess fell in love with Leslie at that point. :)**


	20. Chapter 20: Voice Inside His Head

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter, I was very excited to write it

_A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter, I was very excited to write it. It goes back to Jess and his family, something I haven't gotten to do a lot in this story. Enjoy! And please review!_

**Chapter 20**

**Voice Inside His Head**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Lark Creek, Virginia, Lark Creek Junior High School **

"And so, in conclusion, the human mind sends brain waves to the body, resulting in appropriate physical reaction…"

_Thus resulting in stomach pains, headaches, ex cetera, ex cetera…blah, blah, BLAH! Bored out of my mind… _

That's what was going through fourteen year old Jess Aarons' mind as he sat in science class, listening to his incredibly boring teacher drone on about the connection between subconscious emotion and physical reactions. His hand twitched absentmindedly around his pen, and as he looked down at his notebook, he realized that his scribbled notes had, at some point, transformed into the silhouette of a girl around fourteen.

Leslie!

Jess sighed and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. Leslie was back for one of her "Spells".

About a year after her death, the pain of the loss had dulled, as all things should of course. But only few months after that happened, he noticed a very strange occurrence.

Whenever he was under stress, or lonely, or something strange was about to happen to him, Leslie would "Appear" in every way possible. She would start out in his head, talking to him, and he could visualize her as she had always been –blonde, sarcastic, and beautiful. But lately, his visions had become more…realistic.

Now the eleven year old Leslie was faint in his memory, but another Leslie, an older one, was always there. Jess had tried countless times to draw her, but he never could seem to get it right. To him, it was like trying to copy a Davinci painting and compare the two. Naturally, the Davinci was far better than his would ever be, and he accepted that. However, in the case of Leslie's (if you could call her that) portrait, he _had_ to get her likeness perfectly. For she would disappear in a few weeks time, and the beautiful, smiling face that was like water to him would be gone, nothing but a memory that would fade away into nothingness.

So as he stared at his notebook, the silhouette of his late best friend looking back at him, Jess turned his face back to the teacher and tried not to vomit.

_Maybe this whole connection between bodily reactions and emotions isn't so bad after all…_

"Jess Aarons!" Mr. Sullivan snapped, sensing his student hadn't been paying attention.

"Y-yes, sir?"

"Mr. Aarons, could you please tell the class our homework assignment for this evening?"

"No sir." Jess admitted sheepishly after a moment.

"Mm." Mr. Sullivan shook his head and turned to the board.

"Leslie" took the opportunity to lecture her friend.

"_**Jess, come on! I know you can do better than that."**_

Groaning inwardly, Jess tried his best to focus on points of the assignment Mr. Sullivan was pointing out. The voice inside of his head, (Who he now referred to as Leslie) however, had a different idea.

"_**You really should be trying harder, you know." **_She lectured. _**"You may not want to be a scientist, but no art school is going to look at someone who can't pass eighth grade science."**_

A headache coming, he tried to focus on his teacher, but Leslie kept going.

"_**And WHY are you sitting by yourself? You should've made some friends by now, Jesse Aarons!" **_

"_Leslie, please, shut up!" _

He startled himself so much by answering the girl's remarks inside of his head that he fell out of his chair, pulling it and his desk down with him. Everyone turned to look at him. A few kids chuckled, and the teacher just stared at him.

"_**Way to go, graceful." **_Leslie snorted sarcastically.

"_Must you?" _Jess asked back.

"_**Duh. It's ME."**_

"_Oh, right. Wait. You! What do you mean, YOU?! You're dead, Leslie! Dead!"_

"_**Gee, thanks. I hadn't noticed. You know, really, I just like lurking in your thoughts instead of being, oh, I don't know…ALIVE!"**_

"Jesse, can you hear me?" That was Mr. Sullivan.

"Yes sir, I can. Sorry, I was a bit dazed."

"A bit? Go to the nurse's office please, and don't come back until you're sane."

More kids laughed at his comment, and so, red in the face, Jess grabbed his books and started off down the hall.

"_Thanks a lot, Leslie. Everyone thinks I'm crazy!"_

"_**You are talking to a voice inside your head." **_

"_Please shut up."_

"_**Wow, suddenly I die and you turn into a big grump."**_

"_That's not shutting up, you know." _Jess retorted, and continued down the hall in silence, never once speaking to Leslie.

"_**Man, it smells in here!" **_She said as they passed the gym, and he had to smile.

"_I know. The junior high is only two years old, and it already stinks…wait, how did you know it smells?!"_

"_**Hello, I'm in your brain! Along with all your senses, duh." **_

"_Well then, Miss Sassy Pants, riddle me this. How did you get in my head?" _

"_**Who said **__**I**__** was in your brain?"**_

"_Uh, you did. Like five seconds ago."_

"_**Jess, it's not actually ME inside your head. I'm just taking over your conscience for a while."**_

"_So…you're not real?"_

"_**Sorta kinda…it's really hard to explain. And anyway, who said that just because something's in your head, it's not real?" **_

"_Most people."_

"_**But we're not like most people, are we?"**_

"_No. You never were."_

"_**And neither are you. Look, Jess…I'm really scared right now. I'm not supposed to be here, but I HAVE to be here. Something's wrong with the world right now, and we're not sure what. Somebody's here who shouldn't be, and they're about to come in contact with you…"**_

"_Wow, nice story Les."_

"_**I'm serious! Just…be careful, okay?"**_

"_Yes mother."_

"_**You'll see, you'll see. Though you shouldn't have to."**_

"_Can you tell me anything about the 'Misplaced Person'?"_

"_**Have you ever dreamed about a little girl named Samantha?"**_

"_Actually…yeah. A few months ago."_

"_**She's it."**_

"_Leslie, not to be rude, but…that's ridiculous. How can a dream come to life?"_

"_**When somebody tampers with the Space-Time-Continuum."**_

"_Okay…"_

"_**I have to go now. And, Jess, I'm really sorry for what's about to happen."**_

"_About to happen? Lesl…"_

He never got to finish his question. Leslie had left his mind, and now…

Now he was fainting.

A/N: Well, that's exciting isn't it? This'll all make sense in later chapters, how Leslie has to be in Jess's head, and a bunch of stuff. We're just about at the climax now after this chapter, so it'll be confusing again, and probably will be until the end of the story. (And for you Stephenie Meyer fans: Yes, I did get the inspiration for Leslie and Jess talking to one another from "The Host".)

Please review!


	21. Chapter 21: Small Change, Big Impact

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews everyone, they keep me going

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews everyone, they keep me going!_

**Chapter 21**

**Small Change, Big Impact**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Lark Creek, Virginia, Lark Creek Junior High, Nurse's Office**

"He's waking up, I think."

Sure enough, Ms. Adams, the school nurse, was correct. Jess was stirring on his cot, moaning quietly to himself.

"Ugh." He groaned, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. There were so many bright lights in this room that it almost made him sick. His head throbbed, and all he could remember was hearing Leslie's voice, clear as day. He couldn't remember what she had said, exactly, but he _did_ remember how sweet and melodic she had sounded, even more than she had three years ago. He now remembered that Leslie had been concerned for him –why, he couldn't recall- and how angelic her face had looked.

"Jesse? Are you awake?" A voice asked.

Still dizzy and confused, he assumed the speaker was the person –if you could call her that- he had most recently spoken to.

"Leslie?"

"Leslie? No, Jesse, this is Ms. Adams, the nurse."

Still tired, all Jess could utter was another "Ugh," as he tried to push himself up off the cot. Ms. Adams, however, pushed him right back down.

"Stay put, young man, while I check to make sure you're in tip-top shape."

Flopping back down listlessly, he squinted in the light and rubbed his forehead feverishly.

"Where am I?" He managed.

"The nurse's office, as one should be, in your condition." Ms. Adams answered back crisply, not looking up from the package of disposable thermometers she was trying to open.

"In my condition? What do you mean?"

"You fainted. Fainted dead away."

"Dead?" Jess squeaked, as Leslie's fourteen year old face flashed through his mind. He now remembered their "conversation" inside his head, and how she had warned him about a girl named Samantha. Her last words to him rang in his mind:

"_I'm sorry for what's about to happen."_

Did she mean the fainting? Or the girl named Samantha, the one who haunted his dreams…

"It's just an expression, child!" The nurse exclaimed, snapping him out of his trance.

"Oh yeah, sorry."

"Humph."

Vision now clear, Jess surveyed his surroundings:

A small, clean, pale blue room with many cabinets and medical instruments on the walls. Another cot sat beside his own, covered in a strip of white crepe paper and a thin pillow with no real cover- only another piece of crepe paper. A clear rod hung from the ceiling, and a blue curtain was pushed to the side, near the other cot, so he could see in front of him.

A small white counter with what seemed to be hundreds of narrow, yet spacious, rectangular drawers was nestled contentedly under a window the spanned the length of the unit. The window showed the front office of the school, where secretaries and librarians were running around with papers and files and talking to one another from room to room.

Ms. Adams herself was by the counter, still fiddling tirelessly with the thermometer box. The nurse was probably in her mid-fifties, tall and bony with long, salt-and-pepper hair that was always slicked back into a low bun. Sometimes, mixed with that salt-and-pepper hair you could see a tiny gold chain. That gold chain held a pair of golden half-moon glasses, which often slid off her bird-like, bony, crooked nose. She wore practically the same outfit everyday: Brown loafers with bobby socks, a long straight-cut cotton skirt that showed only the tiniest bit of her socks, and a crisp button down blouse with a collar.

"Ahh…HA!" Ms. Adams cried suddenly, and suddenly the package of thermometers flew open. Smiling to herself, she selected a thermometer from the box and walked over to the cot. She placed it under his tongue and gave him a stern look –a look like one might give a large, hairy dog that had a habit of jumping on beds when he wasn't supposed to- and exited the office for a moment.

Fiddling with the thermometer under his tongue, Jess pushed himself up on his elbows and peered out the window. Ms. Adams was talking to someone. He could only see the back of the person's head, but it looked quite a bit like Mr. Sullivan. Now the nurse was now done with her chat, and she was coming back into the office. He quickly lay back down.

Without a word, she entered the office and extracted the thermometer.

"Your temperature is a bit higher than it should be. How's your head feeling?"

"Bad. Like I have a really horrible cold."

"Mm. And the rest of you?"

"Achy, sore. My neck hurts about as bad as my head."

"Mm. Figures. Mr. Aarons, I believe you lucked out today."

"I don't have head trauma or internal bleeding?" He suggested, and he silently added to himself: _And I'm not going crazy?_

Since he didn't add on the last –and probably most important- question, Ms. Adams thought he was making a joke. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

"Well, yes. No trauma or bleeding, but that's not necessarily the luck I was referring to. Mr. Sullivan has been very kind to you. He said that since its Friday, you will be excused from your classes, and given the rest of your work to be completed by Tuesday."

"Oh, okay." Jess answered, not sure exactly _what_ to say.

"Who can I call to get you home?"

"Um…probably my Mom, Mary Aarons."

"Alright then. Phone number, please."

"Eight seven four, sixty-seven twenty-nine."

"Thank you." Ms. Adams dialed the number and tapped the counter impatiently with her finger.

"Mary Aarons? Hello, this is Eugenia Adams, the Lark Creek Junior High nurse. I'm calling regarding your son, Jesse. He fainted this afternoon…yes, he's doing fine…sore, with a bit of a high temperature and a headache, completely understandable symptoms…yes, he can come home, his teacher has requested it, actually…you're on your way? Wonderful. Goodbye, Mrs. Aarons."

"Your mother is on her way." Ms. Adams reported as she hung up the phone. Jess only nodded.

Suddenly, the door to the nurse's office burst open, and an out-of-breath seventh grade girl stood in the doorway.

"Ms. Adams! You've gotta come down to the race field!"

"Amelia, for the last time, I _cannot_ help you decide if a butterfly is injured, nor can a provide treatment." The nurse said in a bored voice, like she had repeated herself several times. Jess stifled a laugh.

"No, it's not that! Dan Taylor and Eric Green are in a fight, and when Kyle tried to intervene, they socked him in the mouth! They're still fighting down there, and Carrie's trying to fix Kyle up, but probably only because she likes him, and…"

Ms. Adams sighed and held up her hand.

"Amelia, stop, please. I'll come down and help you, but please, _please_ stop talking so fast."

"Okay, can do! Come on!" And she raced out the door.

Jess was left a little flabbergasted by the girl's capacity for words, and Ms. Adams suddenly looked very old and very tired.

"Amelia is a sweet girl, but after she talks to me I need some ice cream and a nap." She said, more to herself than Jess. At this he _did_ laugh, and the poor nurse barely noticed.

"Stay here until I get back." She ordered, and almost numbly followed the overly energetic girl to the race field.

Alone with himself –and truly _himself_, no Leslie anywhere in his mind-for the first time in what seemed to be a long while, Jess happily allowed his thoughts to wander frivolously, and yet, he couldn't help but wonder what Leslie would say about Amelia.

--

By the time Ms. Adams had returned from the catastrophe on the race field, Mary Aarons had arrived at the school, disheveled and nervous.

"Your mother is here, Jesse." Ms. Adams said. Jess was rather amazed. The woman had survived a fight between two seventh grade boys and had come out unscathed, not even one strand of hair falling from her bun.

Mary, however, was an entirely different story. She ran in, wearing a jogging suit, her hair in a messy ponytail, and no makeup. This was abnormal for Jess to see, and he had to refrain himself from blurting out the truth: She looked awful.

"Mom?"

"Honey! Are you okay?" Mary cried, running to her son and folding him in a hug.

"I'm fine Mom." He mumbled, struggling against his mother's embrace. When she at last released him, he stared at her terrified face.

"Are _you_ okay? You look more worried than me."

"Well, I'm not entirely okay, but I feel better now that I see that you're alive and well, with no head trauma or internal bleeding." He grinned as his Mom used the same examples he had, but then was reminded why he had passed out.

_Yeah, I'm just hearing voices in my head. _He thought yet again, and wished Leslie had never even spoken to him in the first place.

"How did it happen?" Mary pressed.

"I'm curious myself, if you don't mind, Jesse." Ms. Adams added.

At that moment, Jess _did_ mind. He minded very, very, VERY much, in fact. Fighting anger, (you would probably feel angry too, if you had to tell your mother and the school nurse that you fainted because your dead best friend inhabited your mind and told you that you were going to meet a girl that you've dreamed about because someone tampered with the space-time-continuum, wouldn't you? Yes, I figured.) He cleared his throat and began to speak.

"I wasn't feeling well today. Ask Mr. Sullivan. I guess maybe I'm dehydrated or something." He answered smoothly, surprised at how easy it was to lie, and even more shocking: His mother and Ms. Adams were eating it like it was candy.

_It's not really a lie. _He consoled himself. _You're just…making stuff up. Like Leslie did with her scuba diving essay. And besides, it's either lie or get yourself locked up in the nuthouse! _

"That's understandable." Ms. Adams supplied kindly.

Before Jess had the chance to confess the full truth (even if it made him seem crazy) Mary had whisked him off the cot and pushed him towards the door, thanking Ms. Adams enough for both of them, and taking him to the car so fast he could barely see where he was going.

"The sooner we get you home, the better." She said.

And while he trusted his mother's judgment, something told him that pushing a person who had just fainted as fast as they could go was probably not the safest thing in the world to do. So he was very thankful indeed when they got to the truck and even with the offering of a cheeseburger and soda at McDonald's, (a rare and treasured offer) he assured his mother that all he wanted was rest. Mary fell into a dutiful silence, and for the first time that day, Jess Aarons felt totally at peace.

About thirty minutes after they returned home, Jess fell asleep on the couch watching TV, and slept soundly until his sisters returned from school.

--

He woke to the sound of Brenda and Ellie arguing over the car.

"Mom, I've gotta meet Jake at the Doghouse Diner by six!" Brenda was whining. "Tell Ellie that she can rehearse another night."

Shooting Brenda her best "Older Sister Glare", Ellie began her rebuttal.

"How about you tell _Brenda _that she spends enough time sucking spit with her boyfriend as it is, and that my acting career is far more important!"

"What's sucking spit?" Joyce Ann piped up as she skipped merrily into the kitchen, brown ringlets bouncing. The youngest Aarons child had recently celebrated her fourth birthday, and had began afternoon daycare at Lark Creek Elementary so she could take the bus home with Maybelle and her best friend, Billy Jean Carter.

"It's…nothing, sweetie. Why don't you go upstairs and play Barbie dolls with May?"

"Okay!" And she skipped off to get her beloved big sister. However, when Maybelle came into the house, Super-Extreme-Barbie seemed to be the last thing on her mind.

"Humph!" The young girl declared loudly.

"What's wrong with you now, May?" Mary sighed, trying her best to look sympathetic.

"Timmy Williams." Maybelle declared, plunking down angrily between her two older sisters. Joyce Ann squeezed in to be next to May, which earned an angry glare from Brenda in response.

"What about Timmy Williams?" Ellie asked, for once genuinely curious.

"Alexandra likes him."

"So? Girls can have friends who are boys." Brenda snapped insensitively. "Look at Jess and Leslie." Jess had to fight snapping at his sister.

"Who's Leslie?" Joyce Ann asked, and it was clear that everyone in the room was tiring of the little girl's constant questions.

"Jess's dead girlfriend." Brenda stated lazily, earning a hard stare from her mother, who was about to lecture her. Jesse, however, was faster.

"Do you _ever_ think about anyone but yourself?! You don't know about Leslie, or who she was! You don't know about _anything_!"

"Brenda, Jess, please." Mary tried, but her son wasn't done.

"All you care about is your stupid boyfriend! At least Ellie does something worthwhile with herself, and doesn't go around parading her bare _butt_ like you do."

"What are you implying, smart-ass?" Brenda snarled.

"Maybelle, Joycie, go into the other room, and _never_ repeat that word, do you understand me?" Mrs. Aarons commanded.

The girls, wide-eyed, immediately obeyed, scampering like frightened rabbits.

"As for you, Brenda Jane, apologize to your brother this instant!"

Neither Jesse nor Brenda listened however, and continued their attacks.

"I'm implying that you're a…a…" He faltered.

"A what? What am I, Jesse Oliver, huh? Are you too scared? Scared after your girlfriend died?"

"Shut up, you…you…FEMALE DOG!" He yelled, and raced out the door.

"'Female dog'?" Brenda repeated slowly, but a look of true rage crossed her face as she understood the intent of her brother's remark.

--

Jess ran like never before, anger giving him the strength. His head throbbed, his sides ached, and his breath came in shallow gasps, but he still ran, unable to stop.

How dare Brenda say those things about Leslie! She didn't know anything, did she?

_No, she doesn't know anything. That's why you told her so. _He thought, but yet he couldn't help but feel he was disappointing Leslie by yelling at his sister, no matter how wrong she was.

Still running, he found himself deep in the woods, and that he had, indirectly, gone _around _the land that was referred to as Terabithia, and was now on the hillside that they had hiked up when Leslie had told him about Janice Avery and her father. (They had gone indirectly to their kingdom, as Jess had noticed that Maybelle was thinking about following them.)

Glancing around, he noticed a bit of barbed wire fence about twenty-two feet from where he stood on the hill. The fence signified the end of Farmer Thomas's property. Farmer Thomas lived on the right side of Terabithia, which had made Jess so cautious about property lines when Leslie first discovered the land, as a quite a bit of Terabithia belonged to him. (Not _all_ of the kingdom belonged to Thomas, most of it was on the property that stretched out behind the old Perkins Place.)

Many people in Lark Creek referred to the house the Burkes' had lived in as the ol' Perkins Place, though the _real _Perkins family had moved out almost six years ago, and had rented it out to different people until Leslie's parents had purchased the house. After Bill and Judy had sold it, a grumpy old man named George Aster and his thirty year old son moved in. About five months after, George moved out, complaining about the noise of the school bus in the mornings. His son stayed in the house for about another two months before moving back in with George, and the house had been put on the market for almost a year. No one bought it however, and for whatever reason, no one wanted to rent it, either. One time, old man Aster had said it was because Leslie had lived in the house and then died. His exact words were:

"Bet nobody wants ta buy this place cause of that silly kid that drowned here last year. The parents sold me the house after their kid died. Cowards, I could sense it. Who moves outta a perfectly good place jus' cause their kid dies, anyway?"

That had earned George a punch in the nose, courtesy of Jesse Oliver Aarons. It had also earned Jess three months of heavy-duty grounding. (It hadn't even been a full year since the death of his friend, and the grief was still very fresh.)

So as Jess reached the bottom of the hill and turned towards his own home, it wasn't the for-sale sign in front of the old farmhouse that surprised him, for that was always there. It was the strange mini-van and three men in front of the for-sale sign that surprised him. Cautiously moving down the hill he called out.

"Afternoon, Mr. Aster!" Jess called as he calmly crossed the road between his own home and the Burkes' old house.

The old man turned around in circles, his cane swinging around with such reckless abandon that Jesse couldn't help but wonder _why_ he used it in the first place if he could balance while doing something like that.

When Mr. Aster located the source of the voice, he stopped spinning.

"Who are you?" He barked, pointing his cane in the general area of Jess's face, holding it as if he were holding a gun to his enemy. In spite of himself, Jess took a step backwards.

_I bet he has a lot of friends. _He thought to himself, shaking his head lightly as he realized that he had unintentionally phased the thought as a remark that Leslie would reply to. No reply entered in his mind, and his spirit was dampened.

"Hey, you! You kid!"

Mr. Aster's voice snapped Jess out of his trance.

"Yes sir?"

"Who are you?"

"My name's Jesse, sir. Jesse Aarons, but please, call me Jess. I live next door to your house."

Mr. Aster snorted. "It's not my house anymore, thank God."

Had the old man said anything but that, Jess would've felt relief that the man didn't remember that he had punched him in the nose almost two years ago. However, pain washed through his stomach at those words, and he was reminded for the second time that day –had he really only learned it that afternoon? - that the mind was incredibly linked to the body.

Suddenly, a sleazy looking man walked over and stood beside George. He smiled, showing that one his right front tooth were gold. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, black loafers, a loose turquoise tie, and an eggplant colored suit jacket with the collar flipped up on one side. His hair was greasy and black, and his hair line was greatly receding. The rest of his thin hair was drawn back in a skimpy ponytail.

"Who's the kid?" The sleaze-ball asked lazily.

"This is one of the kids that live across the street. His name's Jackie."

Before Jess could tell the two men his real name, the third man appeared. He was skinny, short and blonde haired. Though George Aster wasn't the tallest man in the world, even he stood several heads above the meek looking man.

"Jackie, this is my son, Randy." George explained, gesturing to the blonde man.

"Uh…um…h-hi." Randy stuttered, his voice high pitched and girly. Jess found him very…odd.

Regardless if Randy Aster was strange or not, he at least deserved a greeting of some sort.

"Nice to meet you, Randy." Jesse managed, and felt awkward, now wishing he hadn't said anything at all.

"And this," George continued, pointing to the black haired man. "Is my real-estate agent, or rather, my lifesaver, Phil Banks."

"Nice to meet ya, Jackie." Phil stuck out a filthy hand.

At that moment, Jess decided that Phil Banks wasn't worthy of a hello, but he didn't exactly plan on immediately correcting the strange, dirty, (Dirty was reserved for Mr. Banks.) and…obviously unintelligent men.

"My name is _Jesse, _not _Jackie_." Jess argued, then regretting it. Thankfully, no one paid him any mind.

"So, George, why don't ya tell your little neighbor here the good news!" Phil smiled, and Jess had the desire to throw Phil –or even himself- over a cliff.

"Ah, yeah!" Randy echoed.

_He looks even creepier when he's excited… _Jess thought to himself.

"I sold the house." George said triumphantly, as if saying: 'I just won the Pulitzer Prize'.

But, considering who the house had belonged to before, Jesse found it more difficult to believe that someone new would be moving into the house, rather than George Aster winning an award of that magnitude. (And of course, as it seemed, that man winning an award representing anything good or decent seemed impossible.)

"Excuse me?"

George squinted at his face really hard, his eyes becoming nothing more than narrow slits, set deeply in his sagging, wrinkly, skin.

"I. Sold. The. House." He repeated, as if he were talking to someone that was very stupid.

When Jess still said nothing, Randy came up with another possibility.

"Maybe he's deaf."

Phil seemed to think that the idea was incredibly idiotic, and demonstrated so by slapping his client's son on the back of the head.

"He can't be deaf, moron! He was talking just fine a moment ago, and clearly too, without a hitch."

"Helen Keller could talk." Randy argued, and Jess was rather surprised that he had actually stated something smart and, on top of that, correct.

"Yeah, but not well!" Phil shot back.

George just put his head in his hands, as if he had a headache. After a few more moments of listening to his son and his real-estate agent argue over trivial things, he put his hands up in defeat.

"It doesn't matter if the kid is an air head or if he can hear or anything!" George shouted above the others.

"What _matters_," He said after the men stopped talking, "Is that we finally sold this damn place, even though the neighbors are crazy!"

Now, Jesse didn't like being called crazy –who would- but he forced it to roll off his back, and considered the source.

"What we should be thankful for," Phil added with a smirk, "Is that the house was sold, even though that stupid girl died here a few years ago!"

This remark caused all three to laugh, but Jess became stiff, his spine like a board. His eyes flashed, his jaw locked, and both hands came up in front of his chest in fists. After they finished their joke, Aster cast his eyes on Jess. One eyebrow came up in surprise at his facial expression, and he turned to his cohorts, looking confused.

"Hey, does he look okay to you?" George asked, jerking a thumb loosely into the direction of his young neighbor. Both Randy and Phil looked at him skeptically.

The real-estate agent was the first to speak.

"Maybe a little tenser than usual, but still weird."

That was it for Jess's self-control. A low, ominous growl came from his throat and all three shot him a look.

Determined not to punch anyone again –though who deserved to be punched more, he couldn't decide- Jesse spun around on his heals and shot off like a rocket towards his own home. His sneakers skidded on the last bit of the gravelly dirt driveway, not even noticing that he had reached the small stretch of pavement that separated his house from Leslie's old one. All he noticed was that he could run faster on a smoother surface.

Jess was fuming. Who did they think they were, anyway? To criticize him while he was present, and even worse, speak of Leslie's death so lightly. He didn't expect them to have the same respect for her that he and his family did, of course, but he _did _expect them to have some form of decency to speak politely about the death of a young girl.

_Apparently I expected too much._ He thought to himself.

He was so busy wishing that he had socked all three of them while he had the chance, he didn't notice that his father's truck was only a foot from him, and was slowing down in a desperate attempt not to run him over. Jess just kept on running, until he was at last safe on his own driveway, sprinting towards home.

Jack Aarons, the man inside the truck, cursed under his breath as he tried not to hit his only son. More frightened than angry, he hoped that the boy's strange behavior had nothing to do with him passing out at school. (Mary had phoned he husband at work after Jess had fallen asleep, explaining what had happened.)

When Jess disappeared from his sight, Jack sped up the truck, wanting to make sure everything was alright.

When he parked the vehicle in its spot a few moments later, Mr. Aarons was somewhat relieved to see his son sitting quietly on the porch, knees pulled into his chest, with his arms spread across them, chin resting on his elbows.

Slowly climbing from the cab, Jack closed he door as softly as he could and approached Jess, who seemed to be staring into space.

"Jess?" He asked gently, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. He was shaking mildly, and his breathing was heavy.

"Dad…" Jess said, voice trembling, and speaking so low that his father had to strain to hear him.

"Yes?" Jack answered, crouching down beside the troubled boy and silently praying he wasn't having a relapse of some kind.

Now, Jess meant to tell all about the three rude men across the road, but instead he said something else.

"Somebody's moving into Leslie's house."

_A/N: There you go! Sorry it took so long to update, I had a very busy week, and had absolutely no time to write. Please tell me if you think I put any unnecessary details in this chapter. I noticed I haven't been describing the settings very well, and while I like to give my readers some room to imagine settings and characters, I was starting to think I was being a little bit too vague. As far as the added characters: I wanted to give you a better description of Phillip Banks. Ms. Adams is, in appearance, based off of a real person. Amelia's personality is based off of an old friend of mine, as is George Aster. Randy is entirely real, from his name to his appearance to his personality. (He's actually a blending of two people) I was missing designing characters, and decided to add in these people, as to give you a better understanding. :) I know I haven't incorporated any REAL language in any of my stories before, but after glancing over the novel in the bookstore the other day; I decided it would be alright to use the language they use. On another note, I have a new longest chapter, and I'm very happy about it. :) Sorry for my rambling, please review!_

_WORD COUNT: 4,590! _


	22. Chapter 22: Moving Day

_A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for the reviews. After re-reading the file yesterday, I noticed that I made several errors, such as putting 'A' instead of 'I' and other mistakes of that nature. I hope you'll forgive that, as I completed the last, oh, nine pages of the chapter between 11:00 PM and 12:30 AM, after finding out that no matter how much I read I couldn't sleep until I finished writing. The "Author's Curse", it's been called. :) _

_Anyway, chapter 21 was abnormally long for me, and this one will probably be within the normal length bracket, if not shorter.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 22:**

**Moving Day**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Arlington, Virginia the home of Judy Parkington-Burke and Samantha Aarons**

If you were to go to number eight Woodford Drive in Arlington, Virginia, you would notice that a normally tidy house was in absolute chaos. The lawn was a mess, barely holding any plants at all, since it was filled with lumpy objects covered by tarps. If you were to look under the tarps, you would see that it was all of the house's furniture, even beds and mattresses. Judy Parkington, the house's owner, believed that all of that furniture was, as she said, "Unnecessary in our state of packing".

Their state of packing, indeed.

* * *

"Grandma! Where are my books?" Samantha Aarons yelled to her grandmother downstairs.

"Somewhere on the steps, dear!" Judy called back, though she wasn't _entirely_ sure if her granddaughter's books were in that location. Currently, she was trying to pack the remainder of her china cabinet, a task so boring that she had put it off to the last possible minute. That minute was here, as the U-Haul van would be there in the morning.

Jesse had taught his daughter to always be well organized and think ahead, and so she did, packing a backpack with her favorite novels. However, after discovering how her grandmother acted under pressure –and Judy was definitely under pressure- Samantha had primarily confined herself to her bedroom, reading and writing like a mad woman. The backpack of designated favorites had been devoured in a flash, and when her Grandma made it clear that they had no time to visit the library, she knew that it was either unpack a few more books or lose her mind.

Leaving her room, Samantha carefully made her way through the maze of boxes that filled the hall, at last reaching the steps. She yanked open all of the flaps, searching intently for her books. Alas, no books, not even one of her grandmother's. Feeling defeated, Samantha headed back to her room to re-read _The Hounds of Baskervilles_.

* * *

By nine o'clock that evening, Sherlock Holmes had been read cover to cover, and Samantha was left only with her thoughts. With the stress of the move, Judy had become rather undesirable company, which was strenuous for the little girl. Occupying herself with books or writing or company kept her away from the grief, and now that all those possibilities were gone, she had nothing left but loneliness, and the tiniest inkling of hope. That inkling greatly sustained her, it forced her to believe that maybe, just maybe, Lark Creek would be good for her, reminding her of her parents in a healthy way. But lately, the inkling had shrunk to an incredibly miniscule dash, as if she were hanging by a strand of thread. So she climbed into her sleeping bag and switched off the light, praying that she could find a friend to help her climb back up the thread, on to a sturdy rope, or maybe even solid ground.

* * *

At six thirty the next morning, when Judy Parkington and her granddaughter were climbing into their car and forever leaving Arlington, the Aarons house was already a bustle of activity.

Jack had a meeting with his boss, most likely about a promotion. Mary was ecstatic, and insisted upon making her husband a huge breakfast, regardless if he got the promotion or not. She was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. Eggs, sausage, bacon, coffee, hot chocolate, and a beloved and extremely rare favorite of all the Aarons children: Blueberry pancakes.

Jack was having a near panic attack, now wondering if he was actually being _demoted_ or laid off. Maybelle and Joyce Ann were arguing over who got to lick the pancake batter off of the spoon, and their mother was simultaneously trying to cook, console her husband, and teach her daughters about the dangers of salmonella poisoning from the raw egg in the pancake batter.

Ellie, who was trying to memorize _Romeo and Juliet _for drama class, gave up. Instead, she got up from the table and sat down on the floor cross legged, meditating. Ellie had begun meditating to get in tune with her acting abilities, but now that she felt accomplished as an actress she did it whenever there was tension in her home. This did little for anyone besides herself, but today it did distract her little sisters from fighting over the pancake batter. (After all, who _wouldn't _be distracted by their older sister meditating in the middle of the kitchen?)

Slowly, her hums of peace and tranquility became louder, and Brenda stormed in from the living room, complaining that her sister's activity was too noisy, and she couldn't hear the phone. This snapped Ellie out of her trance and the two began arguing, pointlessly, as usual. Joyce Ann and Maybelle seized the opportunity to begin arguing over the batter again, and soon everyone was shouting so loudly that nobody noticed the screen door shut quietly, as Jess slipped out for a run.

* * *

_I'm getting better_. He thought to himself as he easily covered the ground between his house and the creek, making it without any trouble at all. Sinking down in the grass near the calm and shallow part of the creek, he lay back and closed his eyes, not caring that he would miss breakfast. He let his mind wander, though his thoughts stayed focused on Leslie, and how much he missed her, how he wished she would come back, even just to his mind. Oh, he wished…

Shaking his head vigorously, Jess reached across the grass for his sketchbook and pencil, which he had brought with him. His fingers traveled lightly over the half-finished drawings of the fourteen year old Leslie, and he had the mind to finish one of them. However, his mind was drawn to something else, an old memory that made her death even more painful. Flipping to a blank page, he began to draw. And two hours later he had her perfect likeness. Smiling, beautiful, and flawless. She was wet, in a rain drenched jacket, Prince Terrian under her arm. A small smile lit her face, and she was waving, her eyes shy and understanding.

_She knew all along. _Jess thought to himself as he recalled the day. _That's good, I guess, but I wish I could've had the chance to tell her myself. _

Not wanting to remember the day before her death, Jess closed his sketchbook and jogged for home, his heart panging a bit with each stride.

And finally, blessedly, he heard her voice again.

"_**It wasn't your fault."**_

The jog slowed to a walk.

"_Humph. Thanks for trying." _He told her, but secretly, he was relieved to hear those words.

A few moments passed and she didn't speak. Still wanting her company, he asked for her.

"_Leslie?"_

Nothing.

So he tried again.

"_Leslie?"_

Nothing but his own thoughts filled his head. A seed of panic planted in his chest, and he stopped walking entirely, sitting down and focusing on his friend.

"_Did I hurt your feelings, Les? I'm sorry if I did, but please talk to me. I need you, really."_

Silence.

Fighting the urge to cry, he tried, but in vain, for his only call was one soft word.

"_Please?"_

A light, warm feeling flooded him. She was there, she was there!

"_Leslie!"_

"_**Hey."**_ She said without enthusiasm. Jess's brow furrowed.

"_What's wrong?"_

She paused before answering.

"_**I'm just…tired, I guess. Let me rest, please."**_

Let her rest? What did she mean by that? Did being with him hurt her?

"_Leslie…" _Jess began, but she never let him finish.

"_**Just STOP, alright!?"**_

Something that sounded like coughing filled his head.

He thought about asking her if she was okay, but decided against it. He began jogging towards home again, heart heavy.

* * *

Since he left the forest in a slower fashion than he had entered it, it took him longer to get home. He turned to his house; he noticed a moving van parked in front of Leslie's old house.

It had to be a joke, it just had to be. But a car was following the van, and Jess could see the passengers quite clearly: An elderly woman was driving, and in the passenger's seat was a dark haired girl, about eight or nine years old.

He asked her before he could stop himself.

"_Is that…is that…is that the girl?"_

But he never got an answer. For Leslie began coughing terribly, gagging and choking, as if she was fighting for air.

"_Leslie, say something! Say anything!" _He pleaded, but she kept gagging. A few tears rolled down his face, but they weren't his, they were hers.

She was dying again.

"Leslie, STOP!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, not even caring that he had spoken aloud. His own tears mixed with the few she was crying, and he began to shake as he listened to her desperate attempts to stay with him. Jess didn't care that the old woman was staring at him, or that the little girl looked about ready to cry herself. He had to keep her there.

"_I'll do anything, just stay!" _He begged, but she didn't stop.

"_**I –c-ca-n't." **_She choked, crying harder, crying so hard that Jess's body couldn't keep up.

"_**It hurts Jess!" **_She sobbed.

And suddenly, the coughing stopped, and her breathing became raspy. Something filled his chest again. It wasn't like the warmth he had felt when she came to him; it was different, much different. It was hollow, icy, and painful. The air that filled his chest was so cold that it hurt to breathe.

And then he understood.

"_No."_

"_**Yes. I don't have a choice." **_She whispered, and then like a puff of smoke, she was gone.

And she wasn't going to come back.

He had lost her all over again.

He ran so fast that he nearly fell on his face when he went through the door. No one really noticed him, except Maybelle, who's only remark was a surprised and hushed "Jess?".

He didn't listen to her. He just went up to his room and slammed the door, very much like he had three years ago. Sinking back on his bed, he was glad to be alone, but it would have been nice to be looked for.

It was too late to be looked for. Jack had returned from work. He must have gotten the promotion, because everyone sounded happy and excited. So happy, in fact, that nobody noticed that Jess was alone in his room, hurting over a sadness he could never explain.

Not that it was any different than his life had been before and after Leslie's death. But he remembered a time when that way of life had gone away for a while, only six months; it was by far the best six months in his fourteen years.

Unwanted tears coming to his eyes, Jess shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, forcing them away until he couldn't see. All he could see was shimmering water, fogging his vision. One slipped down his cheek and he wiped his eyes so hard it hurt. He only allowed a few more to fall before the sadness turned to an ache, the most horrible kind of ache. An ache that is self inflicted, caused by harboring grief, sadness, anger, loneliness and disappointment longer than you should. By running away from those heart wrenching emotions you make the ache, and sometimes you wait too long, and the ache stays there forever.

Jess Aarons was on that road.

He lay down on his bed, pressing his face into his pillow so hard that he could feel the mattress beneath his face. Lying there, in the fading light he remembered one of the things Leslie told Janice Avery.

"Sometimes, in order to get your life started again, you have to do what hurts."

He had already done that. He built the bridge, he had told Maybelle their secret, and he tried to go on with his life.

And yet, it wasn't good enough.

"Just like always." He mumbled to himself.

He resolved to stay where he was until someone needed him. Jess did just that, lying in his exact position until the evening light faded away into dusk, and the dusk turned to rain, and then to blackness. The rain followed the blackness, staying, laughing at him, forcing him to remember. Finally the anger was too much. Throwing his window open, he ran to his sketchbook and tore out all of the half-finished drawings of Leslie, crumpling them into tiny balls and throwing them out into the night.

As he reached the end of the pages he came across the one he had done that afternoon, the one of Leslie in the rain. He thought about saving that one, but suddenly, as the thunder clapped and the first streak of lightning flashed, a vengeance filled him. Jess tore the drawing into what seemed to be millions of tiny pieces, grumbling pointlessly to himself. When he was satisfied with the destruction of his art, he scooped up all the pieces and flicked them harshly into the dirt below, watching somewhat happily as the once great drawing slipped away into the muddy sludge.

Across the street, in the white farmhouse, a light was lit. He stared at it for a long while, as if staring would force the new neighbors out, leaving it alone and forever empty, as it should be. Nobody but Leslie Burke should live in that house.

Now wet, Jess closed the window so hard that some of the paint chipped off of the pane.

The ache was back, a mountain of sadness and regret, making him feel like a horrible person. He silently prayed, asking God for help, for strength, for a friend.

Little did he know, a certain brunette girl in a white farmhouse was praying for the same thing, as she was missing her parents, especially her mother.

* * *

_A/N: I'm quite satisfied with this chapter. It turned out longer than I anticipated, which is always nice. :) I know this may seem pointless now, but it's important, I assure you. Review please?_


	23. Chapter 23: Samantha's First Day

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I know some of you are wondering how I can possibly end the story happily, and for that you'll just have to wait. We have over twenty more chapters of this story, with lots of twists and cliff-hangers along the way. Exciting, isn't it? :) This story is supposed to be suspenseful, so therefore it'll be mildly confusing at parts. However, if it gets TOO confusing, please let me know, and I'll love any suggestions that go with it. Sorry for my rambling, enjoy the chapter! (This chapter is a bit dry, my apologies. Can't be fixed, it's nothing truly exciting, just necessary facts)  
_

* * *

**Chapter 23:**

**Samantha's First Day**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Lark Creek, Virginia**

A week after moving into her new home, Samantha Aarons was awoken by the sound of a school bus driving down the road. Blinking sleepily, she glanced at the clock. 6:30. That wasn't her bus, she knew, it was the junior high bus. Classes at Lark Creek Junior High began at 7:45, whereas classes at the elementary school began at nine. She was grateful that she got to sleep in, but it also meant school got out later.

Though she didn't have to awake up just yet, Samantha shoved off her covers and went to the window, peering out into a bright morning. Looking across the street, she saw someone running down a dirt path towards the bus. He looked older than she did, maybe around fifteen or so. She remembered a dark haired boy vaguely; he was talking to himself yesterday, about a girl named Leslie…

Even hearing the name not associated with her mother brought tears to her eyes and she went away from the window, preparing for her first day of school.

* * *

"Maybelle! You're going to be late!" Mary Aarons yelled to her daughter.

"I can't find my left sneaker!" Maybelle shouted back.

"Did you look in the closet?"

"Yes!"

"The floor?"

"Yes!"

"The front hall?"

"I've looked _everywhere_, Momma!" Maybelle yelled, feeling near tears.

With a sigh, Mary climbed the steps to help in the search. They found the sneaker, just as the bus was leaving the driveway.

* * *

Samantha had never ridden a school bus to school before, only on field trips. One of her parents had always taken her. But Judy said she needed to unpack, and that it would be a good time for her to make friends. Trying to be optimistic, she told herself she would meet some nice kids on the bus, some that wanted to make a friend just as badly as she did.

She was wrong.

The minute she stepped on the bus everyone's excited chatter dropped to a few hushed whispers, which Samantha knew were probably about her. She paused by the bus driver for a few seconds, and then slowly began her way towards the seats.

"Hold it there, newbie." The driver said, grabbing her wrist.

"Yes sir?" She asked timidly. A few kids giggled at her weak voice and old fashioned word choice, and her cheeks colored.

"First name please."

"Samantha."

"Address?"

"Uh…I just moved in…I don't know it just yet." She admitted sheepishly, causing louder giggles from future classmates.

"It's that one over there." She supplied, pointing to the white house.

The driver shook his head sadly, and she was confused.

"You met your neighbors yet?" He asked, pointing to the small brown house across the road.

"No sir."

"Probably best. You do look a lot like her, except for the dark hair you could be twins." The driver muttered, more to himself than her.

"Like who?" She asked, but she was ignored, because the bus driver was studying a clip board.

"Samantha Lydia Parkington." He announced after a moment. "33 Cold Water Drive."

For a moment she thought about telling him that her last name was _Aarons_, not Parkington. Then she remembered what her grandmother had said and kept her mouth shut.

"Yes sir. Samantha Parkington."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Samantha. Name's Ernie."

With a slight nod she made he way through the isles of seats, two friends already grouped together on every bench she saw. The only empty bench she saw was at the back, no one was sitting on it. Sliding in, she desperately wished that her Grandma would have let her miss the last three months of school.

* * *

The bus ride to Lark Creek Elementary seemed to last an eternity for Samantha. Nobody paid any attention to her, only a few shy glances were cast her way. She was grateful when at last the big yellow bus squeaked to a stop in front of the old building. She waited until all the other children had piled off the bus before addressing Ernie.

"Ernie?"

"Yes, Miss Samantha?"

"Where's the front office? Grandma said I was supposed to go there to get my teacher's name."

Wondering what happened to the girl's parents, the elderly bus driver answered her question.

"Go in though the big double doors, take a right, a left, and two more rights. It's the first door."

"Thanks." And with a shy smile, she jumped off the bus and hurried into the school.

Ernie was left in amazement.

"That Aarons boy is gonna have a hard time forgetting his friend now." He said aloud. "Considering her clone is living next door."

* * *

At the time Ernie was marveling at the new student, Mary and Maybelle Aarons were driving down the road towards the school.

"I'm sorry Momma." Maybelle whispered.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Mary tried, but she was too busy thinking about her son's strange behavior the previous day and the new neighbors that had moved into the Burke's old house. She had considered consoling Jess, but Jack had asked –no, _told_- her that she should leave the boy, and all matters concerning Leslie Burke, alone.

"Momma, is Jess okay?"

"Of course your brother is okay, Maybelle." She said, disgusted at how dry and untruthful the statement sounded.

Maybelle, however, decided to change the topic, since she could see that her mother was just as worried about Jesse as she was.

"Mom?" She asked after a minute of silence.

Mary sighed. "Yes?"

"Why'd you name me Maybelle? Everyone calls me Mabel!"

"We named you after three people, sweetheart. One was your Daddy's grandma, Mabel, one was after your grandma May, and another for my grandmother, Belle."

"Mabel is a good name for Daddy's grandma, but not me! Can't you just call me May?"

The little girl's mother smiled for real this time.

"I think I can do that, May."

* * *

As it turned out, Ernie the bus driver's directions to the front office were incredibly off. It took Samantha fifteen minutes to find the office, and when she finally did, she was embarrassed, worried, and out of breath from running around the school.

Slowly approaching the front desk, she found a bald, dark skinned man with a big smile.

"Um, hi." Samantha said slowly, unsure of herself.

"Hello." The man smiled. "I'm Mr. Turner, the principal here. By any chance are you our new student, Samantha Parkington?"

"Yes sir, I'm Samantha." She answered, amazed that he knew who she was.

Turner sensed her nervousness and decided to make a game of it.

"Principals know everything." He winked, and she smiled, not so scared anymore, and willingly allowed him to lead her to class.

* * *

Maybelle arrived just minutes before Samantha was being led to class by Principal Turner, slipping almost silently through the doorway, but she was caught, and in turn, received a scornful glare from her teacher. She inched towards the desks, artfully avoiding the worried look her best friend, Alexandra Edison, was giving her, and praying Ms. Gulliver wouldn't call attention to her.

Her prayer was unanswered.

"Why, Mabel Aarons, how nice of you to join us."

Maybelle grimaced. Ms. Gulliver was part of the reason she hated her name. Her teacher was old, and while she wasn't _really_ old, she was the oldest teacher at Lark Creek Elementary now that Mrs. Myers had retired the previous year. She was crabby and bitter and hated children, she said so on a regular basis. And while she tried to explain daily that her name was pronounced May_Belle_, Ms. Gulliver wouldn't hear of it, and continually called her by the wrong name.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Ms. Gulliver." She obliged. The old teacher snorted.

"Well." She snorted again, forking her bony fingers through her incredibly thin, powdery white hair. "Take a seat, Mabel."

"Please call me May." She tried, but the teacher ignored her.

"Alexandra Edison." Ms. Gulliver barked in her husky voice, damaged from decades of cheap cigarette smoke.

"Yes?" Alexandra said timidly. Maybelle flashed her best friend a sympathetic glance before moving through the rows of desks, shuffling quietly until she found hers in the back of the classroom.

"Can you tell me the process of photosynthesis, Miss Edison?"

"Um…" Alexandra began slowly, a humiliated blush filling her cheeks. Science was not her best subject, and everyone – including Ms. Gulliver- knew it.

"Um…" The poor girl repeated again, staring at her lap. Ms. Gulliver's wrinkly lips curled into a grin.

"Alexandra, 'Um' is not the correct answer."

Maybelle scowled at her sneakers, who, in her mind, were somewhat responsible for her friend's embarrassment. She wished that something, anything, would come and spare poor, dejected, Alexandra.

This time, her wish was granted.

As the red headed girl looked up, dark eyes sparkling with tears, the classroom door swung open. The teacher's attention was diverted.

"Hello, Principal Turner." Ms. Gulliver's voice was sickeningly sweet.

Principal Turner wasted no time with hellos. Instead, he immediately drew attention to the brunette girl at his side.

"Ms. Gulliver, this is Samantha Parkington. She recently moved here from Williamsburg. Isn't that correct, Miss Parkington?"

"Yes sir, it's correct." Samantha answered quietly. Maybelle studied the newcomer with as much interest as her classmates. She was pretty, a good height with long dark hair and blue green eyes.

_If she were blonde with short hair, she could pass for…_

Shaking her head, Maybelle allowed her eyes to return to her desk, absentmindedly pulling on some of the faux plastic wood around the edge of the table.

"I trust you'll all treat Samantha with kindness for the few months you'll have her." Principal Turner continued, eyeing the rest of the class. Nobody spoke.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, the principal gave the shy new student a pat on the shoulder.

"Welcome to Lark Creek, Samantha. I hope you enjoy your time here."

"I'm sure I will thank you." She answered politely, trying, unsuccessfully, to avoid the piercing stares of her new classmates.

"Good." Mr. Turner smiled. "I'll let you get back to work now. Ms. Gulliver, Samantha, children." He said somewhat formally, and with the tiniest wave, he left the room.

Samantha was left standing alone near the doorway, eyes glued to the old blue carpeting; just as all other eyes were glued to her. After a moment of balmy, uncomfortable silence, Ms. Gulliver clapped her hands briskly.

"Welcome, Sara." She said harshly, the tone most _unwelcoming_.

"My name is Samantha." She corrected gently, and Maybelle was secretly glad she wasn't the only one Ms. Gulliver forgot, even if the other person was a new student, who really didn't deserve it.

"Eh. So?" The grumpy woman responded lazily.

"You called me Sara. My name is Samantha."

"Well, I do have thirty students, Sara, and there are a lot of names."

With a defeated and disappointed sigh, Samantha agreed humbly. "Yes Ma'am."

"Please take that empty seat behind Alexandra." She continued, and once more Samantha agreed obediently, walking calmly through the isle ways of desks and sliding slowly into the hard seat.

* * *

Maybelle had a side view of the new classmate, where she could see Samantha, but Samantha could not see her. She was fixated by how much the new girl looked like Leslie Burke, and oddly, it irked her. Leslie had been special to her as well, and the new girl brought upon emotions she couldn't explain. She felt compassion, grief, and, even more strangely, regret. The last emotion bothered her the most. How could she feel guilt, as if she had wronged this girl, when she had never seen her before in her life? Fidgeting uncomfortably, Maybelle harshly ripped the piece of faux wood from her desk and flicked it carelessly to the floor.

Now, Maybelle felt these emotions because she too, was tied –very loosely- to that Alternate Earth. A seed had been planted in her soul; a seed had allowed her to "See" parts of that created world, though now she wouldn't need to dream of it as her brother had. Because this event alone had made the seed active, and now she wouldn't need to dream, seeing as she was staring at her niece right now.

* * *

_A/N: I warned you the information was a bit dry, sorry if it bored you. My apologies to IHateSnakes, if he happens to be reading this. I did not intend to steal your idea of Maybelle wishing to be called just May, but after doing some more intricate planning, I found it was necessary. On a more personal note: I had a large desire to make Ms. Gulliver a mean character, as I decided to base her off my second grade teacher, who I still remember vividly to this day. While my teacher was not old, nor was her voice "husky from years of cheap cigarette smoke", she certainly was all the other things I portrayed Ms. Gulliver to be. She was bored with her job, hated children, attacked them like Ms. Gulliver attacked Alexandra, and easily swayed the principal and others into believing she was sweet. She also transposed names, as I had her do with Maybelle as well as Samantha. (I chose Samantha's "Transposed Name" to be Sara, after learning AnnaSophia Robb will be playing a character named Sara in the 2009 adaptation of the 1975 movie: "Race to Witch Mountain".) Also, Alexandra is the name of Maybelle's best friend in the 2007 movie, and I decided to use that as opposed to Billy Jean, which was the name of her friend in the book. (However, some of you may have noticed, I made the name of Joyce Ann's best friend Billy Jean Carter in a previous chapter, in honor of the book. I enjoy doing that.) _

_Anyway, I apologize for my rambling; I just like to let you know the personal experiences that I put into my writing. Review please!_


	24. Chapter 24: The Spring Picnic

__

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, everyone. I love reading them. :) I received my first flame today, which I knew was coming eventually. As I was told by my first horseback riding teacher: "There are two types of horse people in this world. Those who have fallen off and those who are going to fall off." This flame marks my first "Fall", I guess. ;) If you don't like my story/chapter, please say so as tactfully as possible, and please give me constructive criticism, so I can try to fix it. Thanks!

**Chapter 24**

**The Spring Picnic**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Lark Creek, Virginia**

If you were to go to Lark Creek, Virginia, sometime between the end of April and the beginnings of June, you would find no happier townsfolk, except maybe at Christmas time. It really was the happiest time for everyone in the rural little town.

May Day marked the start of Lark Creek's spring fever. All the children were back in school after Easter vacation, to the relief of most parents, especially ones with very young children. It meant that all the pestering holiday guests and nosy relatives who most often over stay their welcome to a point where you no longer have any leftovers were finally –blessedly- gone. It meant that their kids were back in school full-time, and they would no longer have to listen to siblings fight and young ones wine twenty-four hours a day. (Not that they didn't love their children, but who wants to listen to shouting and whining all day long?)

Nobody, even adults, like to see vacations end, so Lark Creek's younger inhabitants weren't as pleased with the passing of the holiday like their parents. For it was now their turn to return to work, and their care-free days were over for another good month and a half. For children, this was an eternity. Of course, they did have summer vacation to look forward to, but it seemed so far away, even to the older students, who knew for a fact that summer _did_ come eventually. And of course, before the long, lazy, beautiful days of summer there was a trap: end-of-the-year exams.

So, it was true that the time between the end of April and the beginnings of June wasn't _totally_ happy; there was still much work to be done before the sweet days of June, July, and August could be fully embraced. And while it is good to work hard so you can put food on the table, clothes on your back, and knowledge in your head, shouldn't you be allowed something sweet to hold you over before the days of blissful leisure come, like taking one bite of your dessert before finishing lunch or dinner? Apparently, this thought had been thought about for a very long time, because for as long as anyone could remember, (except for great-grandparents, maybe) on the second Sunday in May there was the annual spring picnic.

This picnic wasn't anything overly organized or fancy, like the church potluck on Palm Sunday. No, in fact, it was nearly the opposite. Sometimes, some kind soul brought a barbeque and made hot dogs for everyone, but most often they didn't, and that was just fine with most. You came as you were and joined family, friends and neighbors in the grassy field smack in the middle of the church and Lark Lake. You brought blankets and baskets filled with fried chicken and lemonade and cherry pie, and found a shady spot to stake your claim. The children could run a muck as they pleased, for nothing could hurt them here, and as they found their friends amongst the crowds of cheery locals they would run off on adventures that they would tell _their _grandchildren about one day, maybe even as they headed off to yet another annual picnic. As for the parents and grandparents, they either sat alone in the shade for some well earned solitude or mingled about with friends from church and work, or maybe even their own siblings and cousins, who they only really enjoy at this time of year, when one particular person isn't responsible for providing for everybody else. They laugh and chatter and make small talk that you don't remember when you get home, but that's alright, because nobody really cares. _This_ small talk is reserved for the spring picnic alone, and everyone is so filled with the over-all joy the event provides that no one person remembers enough to ridicule another about not remembering something they said. It was a blissful state of unrealistic existence, something that, like Christmas or a birthday, could only be _truly_ appreciated once a year. So, of course, nobody in town wanted to miss the event, the Aarons family of thirty-one Cold Water Drive, especially.

* * *

"Jess!" Joyce Ann shouted through the bathroom door.

"Joycie, I'm busy!" He shouted back.

"Momma says to hurry up with your _business_ or we won't get a good spot at the picnic!" Joyce Ann called through the door with a giggle. A few seconds later Maybelle shouted something unintelligible to her younger sister, and the next Jess heard the young girl's sandals were skipping merrily down the hallway and out of sight.

Finishing his _"Business"_, Jess went to wash his hands, once again tugging the overly-starched collar of his shirt. While the picnic in itself was not formal, there was an unwritten dress code that everyone followed. The women wore bright dresses and big sun hats, while the girls wore brightly patterned, long, flowing, loose skirts and sandals. The younger boys, from ages five to ten, usually wore shorts and T-shirts, things they would normally wear to school during the last few months. However, when the boys hit twelve or thirteen, they felt old enough to mimic the attire of their fathers: jeans, starched, collared shirts, and their church shoes, shined so well you could see your face in the toes. Nearly everyone in town followed the dress code; including the Aarons family. Ellie and Brenda loved the occasion; it was the only time besides the beginning of school that their parents willingly let them pick out new clothes. Maybelle and Joyce Ann loved it simply because of their age; it was something Jack liked to call "Super-Summer Fever". Jess, on the other hand, had mixed feelings.

When he was younger, around Joyce Ann's age, he too, had run around carelessly with the neighborhood boys, even Scott Hoeger and Gary Fulcher! They had fun adventures just as everyone did, but as they got older, things changed.

Their harmless teasing at school became more brutal, and everyone began to change, some –like Gary and Scott- for the worse. Soon, Jess's friends from church, the ones he knew from the picnics, even his few friends at school, vanished. They blatantly ignored him, avoided him, and started nasty rumors. Soon everyone was laughing at him, and he had no idea why. Scott became the worst, calling him a sissy because of his drawings, when a few months before he said they were cool. They tripped him in the halls, made him the target during dodge ball. And so his reign as a loner began, and had continued, uninterrupted, until…

Yanking his collar so hard that the first button popped open, Jess scooped some water into his hands and splashed it onto his face before turning the faucet off. Why was he thinking about this, anyway? He, Scott and Gary had never been _great_ friends, they were…picnic friends. That had ended a long time ago, when they were eight. Scott was a jerk, Gary was a mindless follower. They always had been, and he had chosen to ignore it at the picnics. You didn't think about those types of things on the day of the spring picnic.

_You have to stop thinking about Leslie. _He scolded himself. Wait. Leslie? He wasn't thinking about Leslie. He was thinking about his short "Picnic Friendship" with the Squogre and the Vulcher. And then he understood.

His friendship with Leslie, in a sense, had been a "Picnic Friendship". It was short, rare, but utterly amazing, something that would be forever ingrained in his childhood memory. It had _made_ his childhood, just as the picnics made part of it.

_I miss you, Les. Come back. _He thought plainly, just as he had nearly every day since her "Death" inside of his mind. And, just like all the other times, nothing but his own sad thoughts answered back, the same answer he unconsciously told himself every time.

_She's gone. She was gone to begin with, and when she finally managed to come back, your desperate conversations killed her all over again. _

Gone. It was such a terrible word, a word one wouldn't even think on the day of the picnic. But yet, there it was, inevitably.

"Jesse Oliver!" Mary screeched impatiently from the other side of the bathroom door, he fist banging along to the rhythm of her annoyed voice.

"Yeah, Mom?" He asked, deciding to act as though Leslie was the farthest thing from his mind. She wasn't, of course.

"I don't care _what_ you're doing in there, but you better be out in fifty seconds or we're leaving without you!"

"Okay, okay!" He assured. He flung open the door to see his mother standing just inches from him.

"Wow." He said. "You look really nice Mom."

"Mmm." Mary answered with a raised eyebrow.

"No, really! I'm serious!"

Mary did look very nice. Her short, light brown hair was curled ever so slightly, as she only did on special occasions. She was wearing a white sundress covered in sunflowers, and, as "dress code" allowed, a humongous sun hat.

"Sure I do, honey." She rolled her eyes, but a small smile hugged the edge of her mouth. She spotted the button Jess had pulled open in his discomfort and closed it before he could argue, then firmly taking his shoulder and pushing him towards the stairs.

The ride in the truck would be somewhat difficult. Jack would drive; Mary would sit up front, with Brenda and Ellie in the back. Two children would have to ride in the truck bed. Jess was designated to be one of them, and both Maybelle and Joyce Ann argued over who got to ride, not only in the truck bed, but with their beloved big brother as well. Maybelle argued that Joyce Ann was too young, and Joyce Ann argued that Maybelle was just trying to be bossy. In the end, Mary and Jack sided with Maybelle –Joyce Ann was too young.

With a few tears in her golden green eyes, the youngest Aarons child watched mournfully as her father and brother helped hoist May into the rusty bed. Ellie soon came and scooped her youngest sister into the backseat, setting her down between Brenda and herself. Normally Joyce Ann would relish Ellie and Brenda at least trying to be civil to her, but today it wasn't nearly as fun as riding with her two favorite siblings, alone, in the very back of the car.

"Don't be sad, Joycie." Jess called back to her as a few tears slipped out, her little face pressed to back window.

"Don't bother." May said somewhat bitterly; it reminded Jess of the tone Brenda often used. "She's just a whiney little brat sometimes. I really hope she grows out of it." As the truck rumbled to life, she tuned her face away from her brother and the car's back window so she could stare at the passing countryside.

Jess was frozen. Not only because of May's snobbish attitude towards Joyce, the one she was closest to in the family, but because of the words she had said.

"_She's a whiney little brat sometimes. I really hope she grows out of it."_

What May didn't know is that her brother had said the exact same thing about her three years ago, on the day the Aarons' and Leslie returned from church. Now he wished more than ever that Leslie could've lived to see her first Lark Creek spring picnic. If she had, maybe it wouldn't be so lonely for him.

* * *

"Samantha, we're going to be late! Judy yelled to her granddaughter.

"I'm trying to zip my skirt!" Samantha argued from her bedroom. She was trying to prepare for her first ever Lark Creek spring picnic, but so far, the preparations weren't going smoothly. Her blouse was overly starched, Judy had bought her sandals one size too big, she had nearly burnt her hair off on the curling iron, and now the zipper of her skirt was stuck.

Sighing, she yanked the zipper again. Nothing, not even a quarter of an inch was covered.

Giving up for the moment, she sat down on the bed, glancing over herself in the mirror. She _did_ look pretty, she had to admit. Even if the blouse was starched and itchy, the skirt's zipper was stuck, and her shoes were too big, she still looked very put together, if you over looked those small details, since everyone's shirts and blouses would be overly starched, her skirt would most likely be fixed, and nobody could really notice that her shoes were too big. Very clean cut and bright, perfect for a picnic in early May.

She decided to try the zipper again. She wiggled it lightly, afraid she might break it. Still nothing.

"Samantha!" Judy shouted again, feeling impatient.

"It's my zipper!"

"Still?"

"Yes!"

"I'm coming to help!"

And though they would be later than the other families, (She hated not being exactly on time, even if it was a relaxed event like this one.) Judy climbed up the steps with a light heart and a spring in her step, remembering the many picnics she had spent with Leslie and Bill, and naturally, Jess Aarons.

* * *

"This zipper really _is _stuck, Sam." Judy commented as she tugged on her granddaughter's skirt as gently as possible.

"I told you." Samantha answered as she shifted from one foot to the other.

"Try pulling harder, Grandma."

"Okay. One…two…three…PULL!"

And, after the pull, came…

_Rriiiip!_

"Oh no!" Judy cried in horror as she stared at the mess of a skirt, all of its seams removed around the zipper, and the ruffle at the bottom dangling loosely, fabric brushing the floor.

"What are we going to do? I don't have another outfit!" Samantha felt near tears. She was so close to her parents as children that she could almost feel it.

Judy paused for a moment, rubbing her temples. Suddenly, she had an idea.

"Samantha, take off your skirt and blouse. I have another outfit for you."

"You do?"

But her grandmother was already out the door and heading down the hallway.

* * *

When she reached her bedroom, Judy moved smoothly through the various moving boxes that covered the floor. She headed to her closet and opened the door, standing on her tip-toes so that she could reach the dark, narrow, top shelf. At last her fingers found the smooth, glossy cardboard she was searching for, and a small smile creased her mouth. Pulling it down, she set the box on her bed and pulled off the lid. The contents were covered by a thin layer of white tissue paper, but Judy knew the box's contents by heart.

Before the move, Judy had gone through her attic, a task she normally hated. But since the death of her daughter and Jesse, she had begun to cling to Leslie's childhood memorabilia, the contents of the box being some of it. Slowly pulling the paper away, she allowed her fingers to trace the items on top.

Two square, powder blue hair clips rested atop a circular purse of that same color, a gold cameo locket lying beside it. Beneath the small items lay a dress, also powder blue, with a wide white collar and six fabric-covered buttons down the back.

"This will do." Judy murmured, trying to fight the emotion that came with clothing. With a sigh she picked up the box and carried it to her granddaughter's room.

* * *

"Well, it's not as light and floaty as the other girls' dresses, but it will suffice, don't you think, Sammy?"

Samantha was too entranced.

"It's beautiful, Grandma." She breathed. The blue dress fit her like a glove, the pleated skirt hanging just below the knees, and the rounded collar hitting her in the middle of her neck. The purse hung by its silk ribbon over her left shoulder, the bag itself hanging on the right. The golden locket hung to the middle of her chest, and Judy was in the process of pulling her hair up on one side, using the clips.

"Done!" Judy announced, stepping away from her granddaughter's hair and peering in the mirror over the little girl's shoulder.

"You look gorgeous, sweetheart." She smiled as she looked at Samantha. Her hair still held some curl, and now it hung down, some of it pinned up on the right side of her head.

After a moment of admiring the dress, Judy backed away.

"Well, put on your shoes so we can get going. We don't want to miss showing you off in that pretty outfit, do we?"

Samantha smiled. "No."

Secretly, Judy was relieved. Samantha had no idea she was wearing her mother's dress.

* * *

At the time Judy and Samantha were pulling away from their house, the Aarons family was arriving at the church. From the moment they got out of the car, everyone dispersed. Jack and Mary hurried off to go chat with Mary's younger sister, Laura, who had yet to come by their house after the birth of her first child. Brenda left to go see Jake and his family, while Ellie met up with her friend from drama class. Joyce Ann was almost immediately found by her best friend, Billy Jean Carter, and the two went off together, leaving May happily alone with Alexandra and her parents.

In everyone's excitement and bustle, even Jess didn't notice he was still in the bed of the truck, frozen like a statue. The whole world seemed foggy and unrealistic, as if he were in a dream he needed to desperately escape from. A sharp pain found his temple, and he winced, rubbing the tender spot. Mumbling incoherently to himself, Jess planted his hands on the side of the truck and stood, pushing his feet off of the bed and swinging easily down to the ground. Brushing his hands off on his jeans, he began walking in the general direction his parents had gone, feeling like a pigeon in a flock of flamingos, or whatever it was that Brenda was always saying. He felt lost, out of place. Desperately wishing that Leslie could be there with him, he was immensely thankful when he saw Pastor King grilling hot dogs on a barbeque. Pastor King was a very happy, talkative man, and he could distract nearly anyone from their worries. And if he couldn't distract them, he always would listen and offer the best advice he could.

Shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans, Jess went over to get some lunch from the kind pastor, hoping that the outgoing man would provide a balm for the wound that Leslie's second death had evoked.

* * *

About fifteen minutes after Jess went to go retrieve his hot dog from pastor King, an old Buick pulled into the church parking lot, the passengers and elderly woman and her young granddaughter, a pretty young brunette in a powder blue dress.

Climbing from her seat before her grandmother had even unbuckled her seatbelt, Samantha watched the locals scurry around on the green grass, laughing and chattering loudly. Children of all ages were running around and playing, laughing and falling down. Warmth swelled in her chest that was almost overpowering, and for the first time since the death of her parents, she felt totally at home.

--

The picnic went smoothly for two hours, and everyone, including Samantha, Judy, and the Aarons family, were totally content. Soon, Samantha's stomach growled.

"Grandma, I'm hungry. Do we have any food?"

"I didn't have time this morning, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"Oh. It's okay." She tried to assure, just as her stomach let out a ferocious growl.

Glancing around, she saw an old man grilling hot dogs a barbeque. Standing up, she walked timidly over.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Pastor King smiled. "Yes?"

"Are those hot dogs for sale?"

"They're free. Would you like one?"

"Yes please."

Still smiling, he plucked a hot dog off of the grill with his tongs, simultaneously opening a package of buns and carefully placing the steaming sausage inside of the sun-warmed bun.

"Ketchup, mustard or relish?" He asked.

"No, thank you."

"Here you go. Enjoy." He grinned. "I'm Pastor King, by the way. I'm at the church every Sunday. I don't believe I've ever seen you around."

"Oh, that's because I'm new. My name's Samantha. I doubt you'll see me at church." She then blushed, embarrassed by her babbling.

"Well, nice to meet you, Samantha. Where did you move here from? And you're most welcome at church, I assure you. God welcomes new children with open arms."

"I came from Williamsburg. I lived in Arlington for a few months, with my Grandma. I still live with Grandma Judy, because my parents…they…died." She whispered the last word, a pang filling her chest.

"Oh my, I'm terribly sorry. I hope my asking…"

"No, it's alright." She interrupted. "It feels good to admit it, you know? Like I'm almost ready to accept it."

"Mm." He nodded, a sad smile etched in the corner of his mouth. "Death is a painful thing, Miss Samantha. But God allows free will, and we all have the choice to love. Love is a blessing, my dear, even if pain must follow. A lesson I have just recently learned. Learn it now, while you are still young, so that you can live a happy life. I've found that life is more painful without any love at all, rather than having someone and losing them. For then you have the memories, whereas the people who never try have nothing at all. Does that make sense?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it really does. Thank you."

"Of course. I hope to see you and your Grandmother on Sundays."

"So do I. Maybe I can convince her."

"I hope you can, as well. Welcome to Lark Creek, Samantha."

"Thank you, Pastor King." She smiled and gave a shy wave before skipping back to her Grandmother.

As she disappeared across the grass, another person was left in amazement. Pastor Rupert King was left literally scratching his head, staring after the newcomer. All he could remember was Jess Aarons and that blonde girl he had brought to church some three years ago, and how she had died shortly after.

"Amazing." He muttered, not able to think of another word. "Absolutely amazing."

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for the bad ending. I was originally planning to mesh this chapter with the next two, but I decided it would be too long. While this chapter may seem pointless, it provides important setting information. Also, I apologize for the long wait. My computer was down for three days, and I've been extremely busy. Please review! On a side note: Found the "Winged Creatures" trailer on YouTube and thought it looked wonderful. I'm going to read the book, has anybody else read it? Just curious to hear thoughts. I think Josh Hutcherson and Dakota Fanning will do beautifully, (as always) but yet again I find myself inserting AnnaSophia Robb alongside Josh. Ha. I think they work stunningly together, and nobody could really do the evident bond between Anne (Dakota) and Jimmy (Josh) like AnnaSophia could, don't you agree? _

_Ah, I seem to be rambling about things you already know/don't care about AGAIN. :) My apologies. It's late, (actually VERY early in the morning.) and I'm tired. I hope you'll forgive me and review anyway. :)_

_-Emily_


	25. Chapter 25: A Change in Pattern

_A/N: Greetings all! I apologize for the lack of updates, I have been extremely busy with life and a novel of my own…anyway, I also discovered a HUGE kink in my plot, but I think it should be smoothed out now. The beginning is rather bad, but hopefully it gets better towards the middle/end._

**Chapter 25**

**A Change in Pattern**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Lark Creek, Virginia**

Hot dog in hand, Samantha skipped back to her grandmother.

"I found food!" She squealed in victory as she sat back down on the blanket.

"Where did you find it?" Judy asked anxiously. Samantha rolled her eyes.

_Grandma can be so over protective. _She thought to herself.

"I got it from the pastor over there. They're free for everyone who wants one."

"Oh." Judy sighed in relief. When she looked over again, the hot dog was half gone.

"My oh my Sammy, you sure are hungry!" She commented.

"Yep." Samantha answered vaguely. An eerie feeling had washed over her, as though somebody was breathing down the back of her neck. When she looked over her shoulder, however, she found nobody anywhere near her. All the children, it seemed, were over in the far corner of the field, playing tag.

Finishing her hot dog in two bites, Samantha snuggled up against her grandmother and closed her eyes, trying to block out the memories of her parents that had suddenly flooded her mind. As she thought about her parents and Terabithia, a tear slid down her face, and she wondered if anybody had ever felt a pain like this.

--

Several feet away from Judy and her mourning granddaughter Jess Aarons sat in the shade, watching Maybelle and Joyce Ann play tag with a group of kids from Lark Creek Elementary. His parents sat silently beside him, Mary reading a book, Jack looking in the same direction his son was. Feeling bored, Jesse plucked a blade of grass from the ground, absentmindedly rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He had seen a few kids from his biology class hanging out near the lake, but instead of going to talk to them like his mother had suggested, he had stayed over with his parents. And, like he had assumed, he was absolutely miserable.

The minutes ticked by at an almost painfully slow pace for Jess; like the last few minutes before school got out for summer vacation, when the teacher seems to talk just to see how long she could keep the students there before they snap. At the moment, Jesse was extremely close to snapping.

The morning had passed and now the sun was blazing proudly in the middle of the sky. The weather had decided to embrace the fact of Lark Creek welcoming summer, and the sticky heat had put an oppressing mood on the picnic's inhabitants. In fact, many had left. A few people lingered in the remaining shade, though most, including all of his sister's friends had gone home a while ago.

Jess found himself dozing in the muggy afternoon heat. Part of him wanted to stay awake, but the other part of him wanted to surrender to his dreams, to see if maybe they would bring him a moment of peace or happiness. In the end, he gave into the sticky, sleepy fog the heat gave him, lulling into the sleep he desired. Unfortunately, the dreams he had wished for were not pleasant, but rather a mismatched puzzle of confusion and pain…

--

He was running. He was running harder than he had ever run. Pain filled his joints with every stride he took, air couldn't get to his lungs, and the demons who wanted to destroy him got closer with every inch he ran, instead of disappearing. But that was okay. As long as he got to her in time, everything would be okay.

The forest was dark and dense, filled with vines and quicksand and evil creatures. This wasn't his Terabithia, and it scared him. But he didn't have time to feel scared. He couldn't be scared, not when she needed him to be brave. Once he got to her, it would be okay to be scared, but he wouldn't be. She would force the demons away; she would know what to do. If he got to her in time, the demons wouldn't have a soul to steal…

But she was faster than him, running away from him and the demons that used him. She couldn't see him, he realized after a moment. She only saw the Dark Master, chasing her towards death.

"Leslie, please stop!" He shouted desperately. "Leslie, it's me! It's me, Jess!"

His pleas made her run faster.

She was disappearing, running away from Terabithia and back towards the rope.

"NO!" He howled, "Please don't! I can't live without you, Les!"

The demon grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him sinking his icy claws into his shoulder blades, slicing the fabric and the skin. He screeched in pain as the monster's venom entered the wound it had created. It laughed an evil, hollow throaty sound.

"Do you want to see what I'm thinking, Jess?" It hissed, and slowly, as the venom filled his blood stream, so did memories…

"_Mrs. Meyers, this is Leslie Burke who will be joining your class."_

"_Hey, it's Jess, right?"_

"_Are you following me?"_

"_Terabithia."_

"_Your friend Leslie's dead."_

"_She loved you, you know."_

"_The things that girl came up with…"_

"_I wanna come with you."_

"_And a guy who can stand up to a Squogre is scared of a Hoager?"_

"_Looks like you're the fastest kid in the class now, huh?"_

"_It hurts, Jess!"_

"_I don't have a choice…"_

"_I meant to give you Prince Terrian but…I just can't seem to give him up…"_

"_Not really."_

"_Did you ever dream about a girl named Samantha?"_

"_I seriously do not think God goes around damning people to hell. He's too busy running all this!"_

"_Somebody's here who's not supposed to be, and they're about to come in contact with you."_

"_Wow, suddenly I die and you turn into a big grump."_

"_Mom, this is Leslie." _

"_So you're the infamous Jess! I'm Judy. Leslie tells us you're good with a paint brush."_

"_This isn't one of your cartoons or whatever. This is serious! Why can't you make yourself useful and draw me some damn money? Now get your head out of the clouds and do as I say!"_

"_Just close your eyes, but keep your mind wide open."_

The claws were ripped from his shoulders, and he fell to the ground, panting, his muscles shivering as the pain ripped through him like a blade. He sat on his hands and knees on the opposite side of the creek, the side Leslie would never reach. He was in too much pain to do anything but watch, but he couldn't close his eyes, he couldn't wake up, he couldn't do anything but watch his best friend die like he had always imagined she had, ever since the first few months after her death. The hurt and disappointment as she wondered where he was or, maybe not that exactly. Leslie wouldn't be that sad if he wasn't there, would she? He didn't really know. All he knew was that she was by herself, and he wasn't there to help her when that horrible accident came to claim her life. He watched as she grabbed the rope and jumped on, swinging safely until she reached the middle of the river. The wind shook the tree, the branch groaned, and the rope stretched for the final time, snapping pathetically under Leslie's weight –tiny, tiny Leslie!—and sliding from the tree where it had hung for so many years. He watched her flip like an acrobat through the air, plummeting towards the water –and her death—without so much as a scream or a plea for She simply fell, numbly, lifelessly, as if she were already dead, and someone had thrown her body from the tree. She seemed totally oblivious, as if she had expected this to happen. Only when she was centimeters from the murky water did she show any sign of distress, the smallest sob managing to slide though her seemingly silent lips. Then, she crashed, with a hollow splash. Nothing but the rope, frayed, tattered and broken, emerged from the depths.

He knew. This imagined but realistic scene of her death had haunted his dreams for more than one evening, so much that he could now recall every detail when he was fully awake. The only things that sometimes varied were the scattered memories the demon showed him, but he had had so little time with Leslie, really, that there wasn't much material it could work with.

However, something was different this time. When he looked across the bank once more, having the tiniest inkling of hope, instead of seeing nothing but trees and earth, he was a person.

A young girl, it seemed. From the size of her body, it was feasible that she was around Maybelle's age. She was kneeling on the edge of the creek bed, near where Leslie had fallen, and it looked as though she was crying. Her sobs traveled loudly enough that they reached his ears faintly on the other side of the creek. He couldn't see her face, but he could see her hair. It was long, past her shoulder, and dark. A deep brown, almost black.

The exact same color as his.

The girl now seemed aware of his presence. She looked up, and even from across the creek, he could clearly see her eyes. They were red rimmed and teary, but he still knew that color. He had only seen the exact coloring on one person, but it was because of the person who had possessed them that Jess could remember them so clearly.

From across the creek, he stared into Leslie Burke's eyes.

Panic and longing filled his chest as he stared into the painfully familiar eyes. They looked back at him with the same disbelieving longing, as if she knew his eyes as well as he knew hers. Though something about her expression was different than his. It wasn't like she was seeing the same eyes on a different person, as he was, but rather, she was seeing the _same_ eyes on the _same_ person. The trust that radiated from her was astounding, almost frightening. By looking at her, he could see that she was mourning for Leslie, that this strange, trusting blue-eyed girl had seen her die like he had, and it hurt her too. She had known Leslie, she had loved her like he had, but the relationship had been different. Platonic, like their friendship had been until that rainy Friday. That dark haired girl had relied on Leslie so much, and the pain in her eyes could be easily read.

He stared thoughtfully at that little girl for what seemed to be forever, trying to contemplate her familiarity. It wasn't because she looked like Leslie. No, he had seen _her_ before. Her, specifically.

What was her name? He knew it, he knew it! It was right there, but for whatever reason, he could not remember it. The anger, confusion and agony swirled around him like a suffocating cloud, as the mournful replicate eyes stared into his with as much pain and loss as his held. Soon, the girl began to slip away, and she began to be swallowed by the forest, disappearing with the quickness and ease Leslie had.

_No!_ He thought. _Come back please! How do you know her? Who are you?_

But the little girl was already gone, and he was alone again, left with nothing except Leslie's death.

Jesse was awoken from the heartbreaking dream by the sound of a scream that was not his own.

_A/N: Tada! I know it's shorter than the average chapter, but I've kept you all waiting so long that I wanted to get SOMETHING posted for you guys. I know this chapter probably wasn't worth waiting for, but I hope you'll review anyway and tell me what you liked and disliked. :) Also, after careful consideration, I decided to delete "Broken". However, I still have a desire to write another story, and I'm mulling over about five ideas in my mind right now. I plan to write all of them eventually, but hopefully one of them will be up by Thanksgiving. Thanks so much for reading!_

_-Emily_


	26. Chapter 26: What You Do to One Side

**Chapter 26**

**What You Do to One Side, You Must Do to the Other**

Why hello, my dear readers! It has been a while since I have had the pleasure of addressing you directly. It has been at least twenty chapters, I believe. But this is beside the point, I suppose. I'm not entirely sure where to begin, so hopefully the story I am about to tell you will make sense.

The last time I addressed you as myself, the author, was quite a while back, wasn't it? It was when things began to go wrong with Doctor Lewis Howard's machine, back when the barrier was just beginning to fall. Ah, that was a glorious time. Samantha still had her parents; Jesse was still somewhat content with his best friend's death. Life was okay, and though a world was there that wasn't supposed to be, it seemed as though it could take care of itself, and maybe, though it went against fate's wishes, Leslie Burke would be allowed to fall in love with her best friend, as she should've.

Oh, how I wish it was that simple.

Stories are very serious things. Stories build our history, they help form who we are, and who the people after us will become. Imagination built nearly everything, imagination first sculpted the Eiffel tower, the statue of liberty, the country of America.

Imagination built the bond between some very lonely children.

No matter what people may say, _everyone_ posses imagination. You can never kill it, not by playing video games or never utilizing it. Imagination is always present; it is just often buried, buried deep into the recesses of one's mind, until at last it has been left to its own devices for so long that it explodes. So, everyone comes to terms with the creative side of their mind _eventually_. It often takes it's time, and by the time some people find it, they are very old. They have grown up and had children, and then their children had children, and they have spent the majority of their lives empty, without some form of creative outlet to sustain them through the trials and tribulations that the word throws at them. It is quite sad, actually. One of the true tragedies of the world.

So, people who find their creative outlets are fortunate. Jesse Aarons is a fortunate boy; Leslie Burke was a fortunate girl. _I _feel fortunate that I have the chance to tell their story.

I've always believed that anybody who seeks out literature will be blessed with a story vivid enough that they may write it themselves. Terabithia was a story like that, and I think this one is too. However, the difference between Terabithia's story and my story are quite evident. Because you see, Leslie and Jess invented Terabithia's story on their own. I have done no such thing. I am merely a tool, chosen by some stroke of luck to write a story that has been kept hidden away for a while. It as if the continued story of Jesse Oliver Aarons is being played out in a room, and I just happen to be outside, peeping in, unnoticed, through a window, writing down what is presented to me. So, my dear readers, I don't really have anything to do with the outcome of this novel, just as the woman who wrote their story to begin with didn't. However, I have noticed a few things from outside that the people inside have not.

It is a well known fact that everybody that was in the original world was duplicated and placed inside the alternate world created by Lewis Howard. Jesse was, and because of that he was able to save Leslie. Bill and Judy Burke and all of the Aarons family were with them too, and they all lived their lives as they would've had Leslie Burke remained with them. We know what has happened to them all, we know what is happening to Jess and his family.

But, however, some of you may have noticed that I have not yet introduced the _real_ Bill and Judy Burke, the ones who lived in the real world, the ones who had their little golden haired Leslie Sophia and lost her. It is because until now, they seemed to be non-existent, miniscule dots in the sea of human beings that surrounded the Aarons' and the little orphan now known as Samantha Parkington. I feel rather guilty saying, my readers, that this is not the case.

I beg you to understand that this is not _my _story. It is not some happy-go-lucky retelling, but rather, a story that I am being _told_. Whether or not it ends happily is not in my control. If the story itself ends happily, well, then that is good. Another pleasant tale to counter all the bad ones. But a story is a story, and stories all have elements of truth to them. I must tell this tale truthfully, for stories are about life, and life is not always happy. Life is complicated and scary and horrifying and dangerous, but it is a game, a compulsory game that we have all been assigned to play.

I can only hope that you will continue to read after I tell you what I must. For I do believe it is a good story, and I hope it will continue to be one. I believe that they deserve to have this story told.

It has been brought to my attention that Bill and Judy Burke are not as insignificant as I had thought. In fact, it is the opposite. They provide problems that one would not even ponder. Until now, at least one version of each person has died, or is no longer in contact with Samantha. This machine is a rather odd one, my readers, one that is really unfathomable to the average human mind. It seems that since the alternate versions of Mary, Ellie, Brenda, Joyce Ann and Maybelle have been disconnected from Samantha's life, they are no longer affected. Everyone else is dead except Judy: Jesse, Leslie, Bill and Jack. So therefore, they really don't present any trouble, or at least any of this magnitude.

But Judy is still alive, in both worlds. Judy has knowledge from both planets; Judy is holding lives meant for two people within her.

The very existence of Judith Anna Burke (or Burke-Parkington, depending on which version of the woman you are more comfortable with.) is putting the entire state of the world in jeopardy.

_A/N: Well, there's chapter 26. I know it's probably not that good, but you guys were so wonderful about reviewing, (even though I kept you waiting for two to three months…) that I wanted to get something up. Also, in case you haven't noticed, I'm painfully close to 100 reviews. (I have 93, to be exact.) Firstly, THANK YOU! I never thought any story of mine would receive so much feedback, and positive feedback, at that. And secondly…I'd be so wonderfully happy and appreciative if I could get 100 reviews! Really, it would make my year. No, it would make December of 2008 and all of 2009. :) So, if you'd review, I'd be so happy! Oh, and happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers. Have a great turkey day, my friends! ;)_

_Au Revior for Now,_

_Emily_


	27. Chapter 27: A Different Terabithia

**Chapter 27**

**A Different Terabithia**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

_**Lark Creek, Virginia**_

The heat of the afternoon had draped a muggy, oppressing fog over the few that remained at the picnic. Everyone flocked to the large oaks around the lake that was quite a ways away from the church, and within what seemed to be moments nearly the entirety of the beautiful green lawn that sat in front of the old church was deserted. Pastor King stayed to clean up his tiny barbeque, and Judy Parkington and her granddaughter stayed, though the only reason was because Samantha had fallen asleep on her grandmother's shoulder…

* * *

Samantha was in a dark forest, surrounded by the frightening, looming presence of the pines that seemed to soar into the sky, for their tops could not be reached by climbing, and their branches were so long that the trees on both sides of the path grew together, creating a tunnel that suppressed nearly all the light. It was cold, and she was alone, surrounded by nothing but the trees and the darkness they created. She lay on her back in the middle of the woodsy path for a minute, trying to ignore the hundreds of tiny scratches that the dried pine needles underneath her were creating on the bare skin of her arms.

"_Samantha_…" A cool voice hissed, sending shivers down her spine. The great pines groaned.

_It's just the wind._ She tried to tell herself, but even in thinking so she rose, rubbing her sore arms and trying to shake off the sudden fear.

"Grandma?" She called out as bravely as she could, trying to show whatever it was that had spoken to her that she was not afraid. The sudden noise seemed to bring the forest to life. The trees whistled in the breeze, dragonflies swarmed around her, raccoons emerged from their holes. Her voice had startled some ravens that were nested in a nearby tree. They flew down, cawing angrily and flapping their wings.

"_Samantha_…" The cool voice called again, it was light and wispy, almost as if it were part of the breeze, the forest itself.

"_You are right, Samantha_._ I am one with this forest, I can never leave it, and I am forever forced to relive this day, to watch it, for I have been assigned to the mistake Fate has made…_" The voice whispered again, and something moved within the woods, causing her spine to become rigid.

"Who are you?" She demanded, though a bit of fear leaked into her voice. "What do you want? How do you know…?"

"_I can hear what you are thinking, little girl._" It interrupted, but it was soft, almost like it was cooing to her. "_Just as the rest of this forest can. We can hear you. We know who you are, Samantha Lydia Aarons. We've known your parents, your mother in particular, for a very, very long time._"

"My mother? My parents? What are you talking about?" Samantha turned about wildly, looking for the voice.

"_You will not find my body. You are already seeing me as you look at this forest. I am a part of it; it is a part of me. Listen to the sounds of the forest, Samantha Aarons, and you will hear the Dark Master's prisoners…"_

"The Dark Master? He isn't real! He's just part of a story!"

"_You are right. He is part of a story. A story that was written by your parents, little girl, many years ago. It was a play in which they starred, and this forest served as their stage. The created the cast of characters themselves, told them who they were, where to stand."_

"This doesn't make any sense!" She shouted.

"_Listen to the Terabithians!_" The voice screeched, now booming, angry, and frightening. "_They will tell you all you need to know, princess!_" He sneered the last word, sounding more infuriated than any human voice she had ever heard.

"Terabithians? How do you know about Terabithia? It's not real! It's a bedtime story my mother told me when she was alive!"

"_Terabithia __**is**__ real! You're in it, stupid, insolent child! Terabithia is the play your parents wrote as children, Terabithia is what the forest now remains. The magic will never die, even though the King must reign alone…"_

"The King? Was my father the King?"

"_Yes, Jesse is the King. Leslie was the Queen, and after she died, your father made his younger sister, Maybelle, the princess, and then she made __**her**__ younger sister princess when she felt she was too old for the game."_

"That isn't true! My mother and father died together, in a boat on their anniversary! My father hasn't spoken to my aunts since I was born, and Terabithia is just a bedtime story. _That's_ the truth, whoever you are!"

"_All lies._" the voice hissed. "_Not that I blame you, for your whole __**life**__ is a lie, a miserable accident, created by a drunken scientist named Lewis Howard, who, in actuality, was trying to bring __**his **__dead best friend back to life, but gave it to Jesse Aarons' best friend instead._"

"What happened to my mother, then, really? What happened to Leslie Burke?"

"_The time is approaching for you to see. Listen to the Terabithians, they will tell you…"_

"There aren't any Terabithians!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, but as soon as the words flew off her tongue, the forest was alive with a plethora of noises…

The dragonflies swarmed, the beating of their wings was almost deafening. The rhythmic noise seemed to make up a loud whisper…

"_We are warriors, who live in the treetop provinces._" The dragonflies said. "_We were faithful servants of Queen Leslie until her death. Welcome, our alienated princess. Your mother was greatly loved, and so are you._"

"How did Leslie Burke _die_? How do you _think_ she died?"

The dragonflies –or rather, the warriors—did not answer. A raccoon emerged from his burrow under a pine, and meandered about along the path. Its paws stepped on twigs, and the noises seemed to make up a deep voice…

"_A lifelong servitude is my promise to you princess, though you do not belong here. We do not know why you are here, for your mother died as a child, but you are the daughter of Jesse Aarons and Leslie Burke, none the less, and so you are Terabithia's princess."_

"_We grieve for our queen…_" The wind whipped though the trees, carrying hundreds of low, melancholy voices through the wood. _"Long live Queen Leslie! It is our fault she has died, princess, and we feel shame. We allowed the rope to fall, we allowed her to fall…We are sorry, your highness, our princess. We are sorry, oh great queen of Terabithia! Please forgive us, Leslie!" _The wind blew harder, and the sobs of the trees were heard.

"Rope? What rope? There are no ropes in Terabithia, there's a bridge." Samantha argued, feeling frustrated.

"_A bridge that was built by your father after Leslie died." _The cool voice interjected, silencing the mourners. _"She was on a rope, and she fell. The fall killed her, and the King felt guilt, for he was not with her that day…"_

"How can falling off a rope kill you?" She spoke her thought aloud, for she had become so accustomed to speaking that she had nearly eliminated thinking entirely, since apparently everyone could hear her thoughts.

"_It kills you when you hit your head on a rock, lose consciousness, and have gallons of water fill your lungs._" The strange voice told her. "_Would you like to see?_"

"See?" She asked incredulously. "See? What do you mean, _see_?"

"_I'll show you…_" Suddenly, a great breeze swept through the forest, carrying her along the woodland path.

"_We are sorry!_" Sobbed the trees. "_We are sorry, princess, we are sorry, our loving queen, we are sorry, our brave king, for the pain you must endure…it is our fault. Our fault!"_

Their cries could no longer be heard as the winds carried Samantha deeper into the forest. The presence of the voice was evident, it followed her calmly, but it seemed to her that it was almost…looking forward to what was about to happen.

"_Welcome._" The voice said, its tone mildly mocking. She had come to rest at the bank of a wide creek, whose waters were bubbling aggressively, rushing like rapids.

"Why are we here?" But she then caught sight of a rope hanging from the branch of a large oak, which dangled at about the middle of the massive creek.

"You're going to make me _watch her die_?!?!" She hissed in anger, feeling her cheeks heat.

"_You were curious._" It said simply, before chuckling. Another breeze came along, and the voice disappeared, but she could feel it glide past her, and the water rippled as it crossed to the other side of the embankment.

"What are you doing?!" She shouted to the voice, for she was now alone on the side of a roaring creek, supposedly waiting for a younger version of her mother –_her mother;_ whom was already dead—to die…

Someone spoke, though it was not the bodiless spirit, and they were not speaking to her. It was a boy's voice; a boy about thirteen or so, maybe older, she thought. He was shouting as if his life depended on it.

"Leslie, stop, please!" The boy shouted. Samantha froze. _Leslie…_

A person came into view on the other side of the creek.

It was a girl, who looked to be somewhere between eleven and thirteen. She was running, running out of the forest on the other side.

"Leslie, it's me, Jess! Stop, please!" The boy continued, still running after her.

_Jess. King Jesse…Daddy? Is that my Daddy chasing Momma?_ Samantha thought, and panic filled her for a moment. _He has to watch too! This isn't fair! Can't we do anything? This is Terabithia, anything can happen here, remember?_

"_Leslie Burke is already dead, and dead she will remain, for the Terabithians had their chance to intervene, and they relinquished it to Fate. And quite honestly, Fate is a light headed stupid woman. It is quite possible that your mother died because of that._" Said the voice.

"What's wrong with him?" She cried out suddenly, seeing Jesse crippled in pain on the other side of the water.

"_The demons from Covalent have decided to make things more difficult for him…_"

"Covalent? What's Covalent?"

The voice didn't answer her, and her eyes were drawn back to the scene in front of her. Leslie, swinging perfectly until the rope reached the middle of the river. A tree groaned, and the rope snapped, sending her in a somersault through the air. Jess, sitting on the opposite side, face creased with pain as he lay in the dirt and watched his best friend –and his would've been true love, Samantha abruptly realized, since they had gotten married—plummet to her untimely death.

She didn't notice she was crying until she had to draw a deep, shaky breath. It was all too much. It wasn't real, this much she knew, but it was awful…Her father, so young and in such pain, and her mother, robbed of a life of happiness with her best friend. Her hair draped around her face and she gave way to the grief, allowing sobs to fill her rib cage. She wanted to know why she was seeing this, and something the voice had told her echoed through her thoughts:

"_All lies. Not that I blame you, for your whole __**life**__ is a lie, a miserable accident, created by a drunken scientist named Lewis Howard, who, in actuality, was trying to bring __**his **__dead best friend back to life, but gave it to Jesse Aarons' best friend instead._"

"This can't be true! It's not happening, it's just not. This kind of stuff doesn't exist! The Bible says so! And Jesus doesn't lie, Daddy said. And Daddy didn't lie either!" She whispered between sobs. "I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. You're dreaming Samantha, and now you've gotta wake up."

But she felt as though she wasn't dreaming, in fact, this felt more real to her than anything she could remember. It was more vivid than her mother's stories, which to her were like an astounding oil painting of color and detail. It was more carefully sketched than the colored pencil drawings in that notebook about Terabithia. This wasn't a dream. This was _life_. If what the voice had told her was remotely true, and something _was_ wrong with the universe because she was in it, her life, the life she had led with her parents, her life in Williamsburg, the days she had spent with her grandma in Arlington, the feud within her father's family…it was all fake! _Her_ life was nothing more than a dream, and now it seemed that she had been forced to wake up. Her parents' death, Judy moving them back to Lark Creek…that was her alarm clock. She had pressed the snooze button one too many times; and now she was being drug from her bed.

"I need to figure out what's going on here. _Everywhere_." She told herself. "But I haven't the slightest idea where to begin."

The sobs slowed as she began to think. After a moment, she looked up, feeling as though someone was watching her. And someone was. Jesse's mournful eyes bore into hers, watching her intently.

She tried to speak to him using her thoughts, perhaps he could hear her just as everyone else supposedly could.

_Do you know her? Do you love her? What's going on? Can you hear me?_

"_He cannot hear you Samantha._" The voice spoke again, startling her. "_Only you can hear us. This is your dream."_

"So I am dreaming?" She asked the voice, eyes still not leaving the set of dark ones.

"_Yes. But in this new, strange world, dreams mean more than anybody would think."_

The world in front of her was disappearing. It was blurring quickly, and she was being swallowed by the undergrowth.

"No!" She called out, but it was too late. Terabithia—or whatever that place was—was gone, and there was only the blackness under her eyelids. Still not fully awake, she listened to the sounds of the world around her, which seemed much louder than it had been when she had fallen asleep.

"Joycie!" She heard a woman scream in distress. "Jack, oh, Jack, where is she? Joycie!"

Suddenly, there was a great splash, and the woman began to cry.

A man's voice rang louder than any noise, breaking the remainder of the quiet with an enormous clatter.

"JESS!"

Samantha's eyes flew open.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there you have it! I'm sorry for another cliffhanger, but it is necessary. Please drop a review, the make me update faster. ;)_


	28. Chapter 28: Joyce's Bout of Stubbornness

**Chapter 28**

**Joyce Ann's Bout of Stubbornness**

_**THE NEW EARTH**_

**Lark Creek, Virginia, the old chapel & Lark Lake**

At the time Jesse Aarons and Samantha Parkington were dreaming strange dreams, the weather became very warm. The group of students from Lark Creek Elementary had ceased their game of tag, and were now lounging on the grass near the lake, trying to cool down.

"What should we do?" A blonde girl named Bailee asked.

"We could always play tag again." Suggested Joyce Ann, who was thrilled that Maybelle was allowing her to play with her and her friends, since Billy-Jean had gone home.

"No, it's too hot." Complained Alexandra, flopping down on the grass for dramatic effect.

"You're right, Alexandra." Maybelle told her best friend. "It _is_ too hot. I wish we could go swimming."

"We can." Piped up Timmy Williams. At nine, Timmy was the oldest of the group and had assumed the rule of 'leader' when he and Alexandra became friends. He was a pale, stocky boy, a bit round from his nearly constant consumption of food. His hair was a mass of black curls, and his eyes were seemingly the same color.

"How? There's no pool." Maybelle still wasn't fond of Timmy, and the two had ongoing debates.

"There's a lake, isn't there?"

"Yeah, but…we can't go in there Timmy, even _you_ must know that." Maybelle challenged.

"Why can't we go in the lake, Maybelle?" Bailee asked, causing her brunette classmate to shoot her a contemptuous look.

"Because…we don't…have swimsuits! Yeah, that's why. We can't go in because we don't have swimsuits."

"That doesn't matter. It's so hot that our clothes would dry as soon as we got out of the water."

"That would be impossible."

"Stop shooting down his idea, May! I think it's a good one." Alexandra told her firmly. Maybelle tried to keep the hurt off of her face.

"Our parents won't let us." It was such a perfect comeback that she couldn't help but allow a smug, confident smile to creep onto her lips.

_Take that! You know the only reason you're doing this is because you LIKE-like Alexandra. Give up, Timmy, I got you beat this time!_

Now, if there's one thing about Timothy Williams that somebody in Maybelle's situation should know is that he was not a boy that would condone loss with a polite attitude. Much less to somebody like Maybelle Aarons, who, in actuality, he liked more than Alexandra Edison, and his constant bickering with her was merely a tool to help cover it up. So, when she smiled that smug smile and made it look like she had won without even trying, it pushed him right over the edge. He began babbling out a plan he had yet to think through, the excitement of competition pulsating through his veins.

"Well, our parents are way over there," He demonstrated by wagging a chubby finger in the direction of their parents, who were settled comfortably beneath a tree, chatting animatedly amongst themselves.

"They won't even see us. We'll just jump in, swim around a bit, climb out, and then run around and lie down in the sun. We may be a bit damp by the time they find us, but with all the running around and stuff, they'll think its sweat."

"That's a good point." Bailee complied.

"Yeah! Let's go!" Said Alexandra excitedly, and she leapt up from her spot on the grass, Timmy and Bailee following with the same enthusiasm. Maybelle rose at a slow pace, and since Joyce Ann wanted to show her beloved big sister some support, she too rose at the same pace.

They raced across the grass to the lake, kicking off their shoes as they went. The Aarons sisters, however, walked slowly and plainly behind, staring at their own sandals and twirling their hair. Maybelle picked at her white button down top, crusty with dirt and sweat. The gauzy pink and blue skirt was now plastered to her legs in some odd fashion; causing it to cross between a skirt and some strange pants, which actually caused _less_ mobility than a real pair of pants or a skirt, would've. So part of the reason she was moving so slowly was because she could only waddle; but most of it was out of pride.

Still, as she watched her younger sister stare mournfully at the children who were about to go swimming, her heart softened.

"You know, Joycie…" The little girl looked at her, honey brown curls flopping in her face, plastered to her flushed forehead with sweat.

"I'm not gonna go swimming…but…"

"But what?"

"Maybe, if you wanted to…I suppose _you _could go."

Joyce Ann's green eyes lit up. "Really?!"

"Uh-huh. I don't know about Timmy, but Alexandra and Bailee are really good swimmers. They took lessons with me last summer. They wouldn't let anything bad happen to you, and neither would I."

"Why do you always think something bad is gonna happen to me whenever I go near water, anyways? Jess was really bad, and he still is, but then he got you roped into it, and Daddy and Mamma. I can swim, it's not like I'm gonna drown!"

Maybelle cringed, remembering something her brother had said.

"_No, it's not that kinda rope, it couldn't break, it wouldn't have. Besides, Leslie's a great swimmer. She wouldn't…she couldn't…"_

"Just…trust me, Joycie. We do this –me and Jess especially—because we love you, and don't wanna loose you."

"Why you and Jess so much? Why do you worry about me dying?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. It would be so simple…she could take her aside, kneel down so they were eye-to-eye, and explain everything.

_The reason we worry so much –or rather, Jess worries so much—is because about three years ago –you still wore diapers and ate baby food then, so you won't remember—his best friend died. She was swinging on a rope and it broke and she drowned, even though she could swim really well, better than both of us and probably Jess put together. He loved her a lot, and for a while he felt like it was his fault that she died; and he still feels guilty sometimes. So, don't bring it up, okay?_

Of course, there were many holes in that plan. One, shouldn't she allow Jess to tell her, to introduce her to Terabithia? Leslie was _his_ best friend, after all. Two, there was no way she could tell Joyce Ann something like that and end it with 'So don't bring it up, okay?'. Partially because she was five, and partially because it was just who she was. Joyce Ann would never keep that bottled up!

So it wouldn't be so simple after all. Opening her eyes, she saw Joyce looking at her expectantly, innocence painted perfectly on her face. No, Maybelle decided, it wasn't the time to tell her about Leslie Burke's tragic fate.

"Um…I shouldn't be the one to tell you. And besides, you're too young. It'll scare you."

"Will not."

"Will too! I was your age when I heard it, and it scared me. It still scares me. It scares Mamma and Daddy and Jess. It scared Ellie, even_ Brenda_."

The addition of Brenda—who was so scary to Joyce Ann that it seemed impossible that anyone that _terrifying_ could be afraid of anything—did the trick. Her emerald eyes went wide and her mouth twisted downward into an odd half amazed and half mortified frown.

"I think you're right." She admitted slowly. "But I still can go swimming, right, May?"

"Um…uh…y-yeah. I promised, right?"

"Right!" She announced with authority, skipping ahead and leaving her older sister behind. As Maybelle walked at a normal pace toward the lake, her mind suddenly remembered the new girl who had joined her class a few weeks prior, the one who had been a brunette Leslie. What was her name? She kept wanting to call her Sara, because that's what Ms. Gulliver called her, but she also remembered that Ms. Gulliver called her the wrong name. It was something with an _S_…Sally? Sophie, Suzie? No, it wasn't any of those…

She racked her brain, trying to match the name with the face that she saw every day.

_It's odd_. She thought to herself. _I see her every day: In class, on the playground, on the bus, at lunch…and yet, I've never even said hi! I'll have to on Monday._

Though, she had also noticed another thing. While she had never spoken to new girl, _new girl_ never spoke to anyone either! She had sat behind Alexandra for the first week in class, but after that she moved one row up and five desks over, to the tiny desk in the corner that didn't sit directly near anyone. After class she waited until everybody left before walking by herself to wherever she had to go. When she ate she didn't eat in the cafeteria or on the playground, or even in Ms. Gulliver's room. In fact, she rarely seemed to eat at all. Only about once a week did Maybelle see her with a paper lunch sack. That was when she disappeared. The rest of the time she sat just outside the girls' bathroom and read books that looked to be about the size of the encyclopedia that was on display in the library. Alexandra had even reported a few times that she had seen no-name-new-girl reading _inside _of the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the sink that didn't work. Maybelle and Bailee hadn't believed her; but one day when they went to the bathroom during lunch; there she was, on that sink, giant book spread across her knees. Bailee had said hi, and it startled her so much that she had leapt off the sink and locked herself in a stall. Maybelle had suggested waiting until she came out again, but after ten minutes they had become bored and left. She sat by herself on the tiny seat at the front of the bus, right next to Ernie the bus driver. (Of course; Maybelle and Jess bounded off the bus so fast that they never noticed Samantha follow a few moments later, and she always cut through the underbrush to get to her house.)

_I wonder if she's lonely. Sometimes I think Jess is lonely. Terabithia isn't the same for him without Leslie. I know he's "moved on", but what does that mean? Because it still hurts him to think about her._

By this time she had reached the lake, and instead of seeing her friends in the water, she saw them standing nervously in front of the old dock, looking downward.

"You guys aren't in the water?"

"I don't think we _can_ get in." Alexandra shook her head. "Look."

Maybelle looked, and what she saw was the dock, or at least she thought it was the dock. It looked like a dilapidated compilation of wood, weak, brittle and full of holes. Some boards were missing here and there, and gross mossy brine clung to it.

"You guys wanna go into water that produces _that_?" She asked her friends incredulously, pointing to the slimy moss.

"Um, yeah…?" Bailee didn't sound convinced.

Timmy, however, did not see backing down as an option. Because if he agreed with Bailee, if he admitted to Maybelle that he didn't want to go into water that had that kind of moss in it, well, then she would beat him, hold it over him, and after he'd worked so hard to beat her in the first place!

"Come on, guys! I bet we can get in. We'll just have to…step carefully."

"Step carefully?"Alexandra repeated doubtfully.

"Yeah. Watch."

Cautiously, Timmy stepped up onto one of the main support beams of the dock, which just happened to be right under some of the boards that weren't broken. Edging his way along them carefully, he walked half the length of the dock before he came to a hole. He managed to go across two of the more brittle boards before they groaned under his weight. Obviously frightened, Timmy leapt formlessly into the water before trying to cover the fear with false coup.

"See? Easy."

Alexandra and Bailee however, didn't seem to agree with their dark haired, cocky friend.

"Not exactly." Alexandra admitted, eyebrow raised.

"Aw, come on, Al! It'll be fun."

"Not really."

"Alex!"

"Sorry, Timmy, I'm not going swimming after all. And how many times have I asked you to not call me Al or Alex? They're boy's names, and I'm a girl. My name is _Alexandra _not _Alexander_!"

"Sorry, _Alexandra_. Bailee, are you coming?"

The shy blonde girl just shook her head.

"May?"

"I already told you no, Williams."

"Fine, _Aarons_. And when did you start calling me by my last name, anyway?"

"Right now."

"Why?"

"Cause I wanted to."

"That's stupid."

"Don't call me stupid, Timothy!"

"Then don't act stupid, Maybelle!"

"Guys!"

It was little Joyce Ann who attempted to bring peace between her sister and Timmy. And oddly, it worked, though she hadn't expected it to. Both May and the boy in the lake looked at her, their expressions equally mirroring shock.

Squaring her shoulders triumphantly, she continued speaking.

"Even if none of you wanna go in the water, _I _do, so I'm gonna."

Worry creased Maybelle's brow.

"Joycie…the dock's not safe. Maybe you should wait for another time…"

"You _promised_ me, May! Remember? You said _I _could go in, because Alexandra and Bailee were good swimmers!"

"They're not in the water, Joyce Ann! You're going to hurt yourself."

"I won't let her get…"

"Don't say anything Timmy." Maybelle shot him an evil look.

"You know what?" Joyce declared suddenly. "I'm going to show you! I'll prove to you—and Jess—right now that just because I go in water doesn't mean I'm gonna get hurt. You both treat me like a baby! I'm not a baby, _I'm not_!"

"It's not that we think you're a baby! It's because of Leslie!"

As soon as _Leslie_ left her mouth, Maybelle realized the mistake she had made. Joyce Ann, Bailee and Timmy all looked at her questionably, while Alexandra looked at the ground.

"Who's Leslie?" Bailee asked finally.

"And what does she have to do with me swimming?" Joyce Ann piped up.

"She's…she…nothing, I guess." May ended lamely, causing all of her friends to look at Alexandra.

"What May said. She's just an old neighbor of the Aarons' that lived across the road when Joyce was a baby."

Seeming satisfied with the answer, Joyce Ann returned to arguing with her sister.

"You're not Mommy! You can't tell me what I can or can't do, so I'm gonna go swimming, whether you like it or not!"

"Joyce Ann…Maybe you should listen to your sister." Bailee was never one who felt comfortable during times of confrontation, and the strife between the two sisters was causing her stress. The possibility that Joyce might get hurt didn't help her, and she twirled a pale blonde lock nervously, trying in vain to get a hint of wisdom or kind authority into her voice so that the little girl might listen to reason. It didn't work.

"You heard what I said. I'm going to swim today." Joyce Ann spoke defiantly. "Besides, Timmy's in the water, isn't he? He'll take care of me, right Timmy?"

"Sure, kid." He turned to look at Maybelle. "Come on May, you trust me, don't ya?"

"I wouldn't trust you to make a sandwich, Timmy." Maybelle had intended to carry on their normal banter, but the words fell flat. The tone of her voice was so distracted and uninterested that it sounded as if she was reciting words from a piece of paper that had no punctuation on it.

"You don't have to be so mean," The boy told her emphatically.

"I'm not being mean."

"Yeah, you are."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"Not!"

"So!"

With that a completely normal and somewhat benign argument ensued, leaving Alexandra and Bailee rolling their eyes and wishing their friends would stop fighting. And, now that all the older children's attention was diverted, Joyce Ann was free to do as she pleased. With a half smirk on her pretty little face she kicked off her sandals and marched confidently towards the dock, climbing up on the same pillar Timmy had and trying to remember the path he had taken. It was all horribly confusing, because the dock was very big, or at least it looked big, and she was such a little girl, and she was a bit scared. But she couldn't be scared. She had to show Jess and May and Brenda and Ellie and Mamma and Daddy and everyone that she wasn't a baby. And being scared over a silly little thing like that was certainly babyish. Timmy had gone onto the dock and into the water, and _he _hadn't been scared. He was a big kid, even older than May and Alexandra. May wasn't that much older than her, and Timmy wasn't that much older than May. So, when you added all those up, didn't it mean that she wasn't that much younger than Timmy? Joyce Ann couldn't be entirely positive. After all, she reminded herself, she was only five years old, and while five wasn't a baby, it certainly wasn't old, like Ellie or Jess. So, maybe if she got in trouble, Momma and Daddy wouldn't be as mad. Or, they could think she was wonderfully brave, and even Brenda wouldn't be able to call her a baby, like she did so often. Oh, that would be _excellent_! Absolutely amazing! Yes, she had to go in the water. She _had _to, because of all of the wonderful things that would happen.

Now, just because Joyce Ann had managed to sum up the courage to venture across the dock, it didn't mean that the _dock_ had summed up enough strength to hold her up. Because, you see, the dock was very old. Older than all five of the children put together. It was not meant to hold people—even young ones, who were smaller—in it's current state. It didn't help that Timmy Williams was a little over average weight for the standard nine year old male, as that had pushed the boards to their greatest breaking point.

What happened next came together so fast that no one could me entirely sure what transpired. All that was known is that Joyce Ann, unbeknownst to May and her friends, stepped off the pillar and onto the dock. The boards groaned as the young girl tried to scurry across, but she wasn't fast enough. The plank that held nearly all of Joyce's weight snapped clean in half, sending the shocked girl through the splintery hole and down into the wet darkness.

From above, Joyce Ann heard Bailee scream.

_A/N: Well, there you have it! I originally planned to add more to this chapter, but I found I liked the ending better. I'd like to apologize for not updating this story since early December, I have been extremely busy. I hope this chapter wasn't boring or disappointing, since all I did was backtrack to the events that happened while Samantha was asleep. I can promise that we will move forward next chapter, however. Please review, they brighten my day. :)_


	29. Chapter 29: In the Darkness

**Disclaimer: **I own no rights to _Bridge to Terabithia_, the character names, or Leslie's essay, _Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus_, which was copied directly from the film. I do, however, claim ownership of Atticus and Covalent.

* * *

**Chapter 29:**

**In the Darkness**

* * *

Underneath the surface of the water was not what Joyce Ann would've expected. It was...beautiful, in a peculiar sort of way. The water itself was inky black, deeper than night itself. But the sun shone brightly, penetrating many layers of the liquid and sparkling down on Joyce like some sort of beautiful star. Her breathing was soft, light and easy, little bubbles flying up and tickling her nose. The scene reminded her of a story her brother had told her once during a thunderstorm to help her get back to sleep.

"_I am moving gently forward, over the wild, beautiful unexplored world below. I am floating in silence, and breaking it up with the sounds of my breath. I'm diving, I am a scuba diver. Above me, there is nothing but shimmery light, the place where I have come from, and will go back to when I am done here. I'm going deeper, past wrinkled rocks and dark seaweed. towards a deep blueness, where a school of silver fish wave at me. As I swim through the water, bubbles burst from me, wobbling like little jellyfish as they rise. I check my air. I don't have as much time as I need to see everything. But that is what makes it so special._"

The story was so pretty, it seemed like a lullaby. The voice telling it morphed from a memory of Jess to another voice, a feminine one. It was soft, soothing, rhythmic and calm, maternal sounding. Though, it wasn't a woman's voice. It was a girl's, an older girl's, younger than Brenda but not as young as May Belle. The story rolled off her tongue easily, like it had been her voice that had told the story first.

_"Above me...there is nothing but shimmery light..."_

The voice became softer, it was fading away. Joyce Ann felt a pang of longing. She wanted it to come back! She trusted the voice, she felt safe with the girl speaking.

"You want to meet the girl behind the voice, Joyce Aarons?" This voice was different. It was a man's, light and airy, but seething with malice and danger. "She's a very sweet girl. Leslie, that's her name. Leslie Burke. She was very good friends with your brother, once upon a time. You were just a baby when she died, and your pathetic, broken hearted brother is too weak to tell you about her. Because, you know what? He loved her. Loved her more than anything in the world. But, sadly for Jess and his beloved Leslie, he was too naive and scared to tell her. He chose a music teacher over her, and she died because of that choice. Sad, sad, sad isn't it?"

Joyce Ann was scared. The man's voice seemed to pull all the air from her lungs and drag her further away from the sun's magical light. She squirmed desperately, trying to move towards the water's surface. Her clothes weighed her down, exausting her.

"Now, now..." The man's voice laughed easily, like a father laughing at his young child doing something sweet and funny. "No need to run away. After all, I need you, and Miss Leslie will be _so_ upset if you don't come. I don't want to hurt you before I _have _to, because then your little soul won't be as useful to me as it can be. And we wouldn't want that, now would we? Of _course_ not. I'm very glad you see it my way, Joyce, so glad. Now, quit your struggling. I don't work for my souls. _The souls _work for me. Oh, don't worry. You'll understand once we get to Covalent. What's Covalent? Well, as far as you need to know, it's your home for the rest of eternity...

* * *

"I can't believe they took Joycie!" The blonde girl huddled in the corner of the cell, crying into her knees.

The elderly man sat awkwardly beside her, stroking the long, tangled locks and trying his best to comfort a younger version of his only child, one whom he had assumed had been thoroughly destroyed by the monsters that now held him captive. However, upon further investigation and some in-depth conversation with Leslie, William Burke--or at least, the elderly, dead and alternate version of Bill Burke--had discovered that his assumption was most incorrect.

"Shh, honey...don't cry..." He tried to comfort her, but his soft words only seemed to make her cry harder. "Shh, Leslie...shh...they'll hear you, honey, no more tears, shh now...it's okay..."

Leslie's head snapped up, flinging back her hair and revealing her red-rimmed, teary blue-green eyes. Despite the obvious despair in them, her eyes were alight, something Bill hadn't seen in a while.

"No, it is _not_ okay! They've got Joyce Ann Aarons, Jess's little sister! She's just a baby, she didn't do anything!" At this Leslie began crying again, though her sobs were softer than before.

"I know," He began rubbing her back in slow, rhythmic circles, trying to calm her. It didn't seem to change anything. "I know. It isn't fair. But that's exactly why Atticus and his goons are doing it. If they can get a host, hurt the girl, hurt her family, and on top of it, hurt _you_, someone they've already got captive, well...to them, it's like they just won the lottery. They're evil, Leslie, too evil even for the devil himself. That's why they're here. This is a prison for them, to keep them in line..."

"If this is a prison, why can Atticus get out? Why is he building his army so that he can slowly dominate the world? Why did I die? Why is that Samantha girl here at all, and in so much pain? Why is little Joycie's soul about ready to be removed from her body...why is Jess so upset...?" The sobs took over again, and she put her head back onto her knees, allowing her hair to create a curtain around her face.

Bill sighed and looked at her sadly. The long, willowy figure of her body was bony and thin, weak with hunger and the never-healing injuries. The skin around her face was gaunt and stretched, eyes sitting a bit deeper in her head than they were supposed to, deep purple-and-black circles surrounding them. A tattered dress made of old bed sheets clung to her in a sad, dirty state, and her pale blonde hair hung in soiled, knotted and oily locks. Cuts and bruises covered her arms and feet, and a large, dark pink cut was barely scabbing over on her neck.

He looked for a long while at the bruises and the faint scar across her forehead that would peak out from time to time. Those injuries were the aftermath of her death three years prior. Leslie could not remember anything about the day of her death, only the day before and after. The day before it had been described in great detail, how wonderful it had been, and the confusions that came at the end, ones she could not fully comprehend, not even after three years. Bill, however, understood its meaning. Jesse staring after her in the rain was only the beginning of his daughter's story, or so he had thought. The world he had known was much different from the one the now emotionally distraught Leslie had lived in. His world was brighter, happier, for both himself and his family, Judy and Leslie included. He had never imagined that in some other world, he had outlived his only child.

Bill had arrived in Covalent shortly after his death. The guards had put him in the same cell with Leslie, because their last names were the same. Kinship was never suspected, or even pondered, by the guards as well as father and daughter themselves, mainly because the family resemblance had faded so much over time. When Bill first arrived, they hadn't even known each other's names. Leslie was terrified by him, and whenever he spoke to her she would give a little jump and look at him, eyes like a deer in headlights. After a few weeks he gave up trying to converse with her, as he was concerned that any unnecessary fear might push her right over the edge. There was little to do in Covalent when one was not on duty, so most of the time was spent lying in their bunks, pondering their odd half lives and wondering when and how they might come to an end. When he first arrived Bill did not see much of Leslie during the day, as she had worked as a maid for the head demon, Atticus. She would follow him around and did as he pleased, completing whatever infinitesimal task he asked her to. It was through her quiet work that she learned more about Atticus and his plans.

Leslie's death had not been an accident. It had been executed by Atticus himself as a test to see if he could successfully carry another person with him back to Covalent. The test had been a success and shortly after her revival from unconciousness she had been placed in a cell and more or less been forgotten. She had not been stripped from her mortal body, as many soon would be, and despite its many injuries and imperfections, she somehow managed to survive. Sometimes she would sit and listen to Atticus speak to himself or his assistant, and begin to piece together the puzzle he had laid out.

It became clear that once Atticus had been a wicked and awful man. It was estimated that he had lived sometime during the seventh or eighth century, around the time of Homer. A merciless murderer and cunning charlatan, he would deceive people into doing his bidding, most often doing away with them when he got what was needed from them, as to not soil his scheme. Atticus died in a battle near the foot of Mount Olympus, leaving behind the impression that he was an honorable man and fearless contender. His soul was found by Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus and goddess of love and beauty. Zeus had wanted nothing to do with him, but Aphrodite pleaded with her father, believing his heart could be molded into one of kindness with the help of her gentle nature and physical beauty. Against his better judgment, Zeus complied with his daughter's desire, and allowed Atticus's soul to be brought to the immortal's peak. For a while, it had seemed that Aphrodite's affections really had changed him for the better. He doted upon the beauty, and treated everyone else with kindness and respect. But all the while, an evil plan began to form in his mind. He began to learn everything he could about magic and immortals, crafting his plot as he gained new knowledge. Decades passed, and at last Atticus's plan was to be executed.

He concocted a plan to rid the world of all the glorious immortals, leaving himself in charge of all the humans below Olympus. Day by day he worked, slowly slaying everyone, even Aphrodite. The only ones that survived his destruction were Zeus and his daughter Athena, who fled from Greece after his plan killed their family, as they were afraid of being harmed. All contact with mortals stopped, and eventually the great Gods became those of legends, the true Lord's helpers became nothing more than fairy tales.

Before fleeing from Greece Zeus made sure to do away with the evil man whom had harmed his brothers and sisters and children. He created a place hidden away from the world and cast a spell on it to keep Atticus locked away forever. He stripped his body of all the glorious immortal beauty and allowed his body to take on the appearance of his soul.

His figure was tall and thin, nothing left for hands except exposed bony fingers with long, claw-like grey nails. He was swathed in tattered black robes that hung disgracefully around his skeleton, the moth eaten holes in the fabric revealing nothing but the smelly, inky black smoke that were his remains. He had no definite face; what was left of his head—nothing but more smoke—was covered in a hood attached to his robes. His voice seemed to come from a place under his eyes, the sparkling blood red irises that glimmered with malevolence, bubbling maliciously like a volcano ready to erupt. His voice was aged and wispy, broken like a worn piece of paper that crumbles when you touch it. Despite its frail sounds it could still be angry and commanding, a noise that made anyone flinch in terrible anticipation of the pain that would most surely follow.

Leslie stopped working as Atticus's assistant shortly after Bill arrived. She was then assigned a new job, as a Filer. There was only one Filer, someone who worked in the room of the Aura. No one except the current Filer truly understood what the Aura was, something that all the other demons and captives at Covalent were happy about. Because it seemed that whoever became a Filer slowly lost their minds, dreaming terrible dreams and imagining great physical pain that was not really there. Leslie was no exception, Bill began to notice. She would come back even more terrified and distracted than usual, squeaking pitifully to herself before curling up on her bunk with her back to the cell door and not uttering another word until she fell asleep. It was after she fell asleep that the dreams and the sleep talking that accompanied them began.

In her sleep she would whimper, begging someone for forgiveness. Sometimes she would scream out in anguish, thrashing around under the thin, moth devoured bed covers, sweating profusely. Her mouth would soon become dry after her screaming fits, and the noises would reduce to being nothing more than a detached squeal in the back of her throat as she tossed and withered feverishly until she woke the next morning. But most often she would cry, simple, almost silent, but never ceasing, a heart broken sound that made Bill want to run to the strange sad little girl and protect her as he had not done to his own daughter.

"I'm sorry!" She would whisper sometimes, in between sobs. "I'm sorry, don't hurt him anymore!"

Then, after a while, she began to change. She seemed almost sadder than she had before, but she slept more soundly that she had been, the only words spoken in her times of dozing being indiscernible. Sometimes she would clutch her pillow in longing, trying desperately to shelter the thin form from everything. The pillow would soon fly from her grasp in an angry rage, soaring across the cell and landing with a light _thump _in some distant corner. She would then cry, steadily and strong, as if she were awake, then quickly falling into a silent and undisturbed sleep.

Bill would lie quietly on the bunk above hers, ear pressed to the thin mattress, listening to her even breathing and waiting for an upset. Sometimes he would climb down from his bed and try to make her more comfortable: sliding her thin body into the center of the bunk, unwinding her pale skeletal legs from the blanket and turning the sweaty side up towards the ceiling, laying the pale grey material over her skinny figure and watching the fabric cling to the malnourished curves of her body. He would pick up the pillow way across the cell and lay it under her head, spreading the dirty, knotted white blonde locks over it. At last he would climb back up the rusty ladder to his own bunk and wait patiently for her to mangle herself again.

She started to talk to him, too. After a while she finally broke, saying that she needed to tell someone about her nightmares.

He said: "Of course I would be happy to listen to your troubles Miss…"

"Leslie." She said. "My name is, or was, Leslie."

This had surprised Bill a great deal. "Leslie? My daughter's name was Leslie. I'm Bill."

"Bill was my father's name." Leslie had replied, shocked too. "What was your Leslie like?"

"She was…she was unique, my Leslie. Very bright, and pretty, like you. You two look a lot alike, you know. It's puzzling, really. Why, if she wasn't thirty, I'd say you two were long lost twins!"

The young Leslie's face had gone rather pale, and for a moment Bill was concerned.

"Perhaps you'd like to tell me about your dreams now…?" He had asked tentatively.

"No." She had told him rather abruptly. "Tell me more about your Leslie. I think…I think it might help my bad dreams."

"Very well. May I sit?" He had asked, gesturing to the empty space beside her on her bunk bed.

All she had done was nod, watching him with the queerest expression in her eyes. He settled himself on the bed and began talking.

"Leslie didn't have many friends when she was younger. She was very bright, as I said before, and I think some of the students felt intimidated and jealous. All the teachers loved her, whenever my wife and I would go to parent-teacher conferences her teachers would go on and on about how brilliant she was academically and physically. She excelled in writing and history, and she ran like the wind. She was a sweet girl, kind and friendly. She wanted to make a good friend more than anything…"

"But she never could. No matter what she did, she never could." The young Leslie had murmured, more to herself than anyone.

"Yes." Bill had agreed, rather dumbfounded by the strangely quiet girl by his side. "Leslie tried hard as anything to make a friend, but she just couldn't. The girls teased her; they called her a bookworm and a teacher's pet. I suppose us moving around all the time didn't help…see, Judy—my wife—and I were full time authors during Leslie's youth. We both loved travel, and moving helped us see new people and places, which was good for us as writers. Les was in her early elementary school years when we moved _all _the time, so we figured it was easy for her to adjust and make new friends. It wasn't until her fourth grade teacher…"

"Mrs. Calloway." The young Leslie had whispered, so quietly that Bill had been certain he was being paranoid and was making himself hear things.

"Her fourth grade teacher Mrs. Calloway," He had continued, trying to keep the tremors out of his voice. "Informed us how lonely and sad she was all the time. She never interacted with anyone, during recess she stayed in class and talked to Mrs. Calloway—who had studied English in college—about Shakespeare. She ate lunch on the sink in the girl's bathroom…she must have been desperate, to _eat_ in a _public school restroom_…" He had trailed off for a moment, obviously lost in memories and guilt. A few minutes later he had begun speaking again.

"Her mother and I felt tremendously guilty. That summer we looked into finding a more permanent residence away from the hustle and bustle of the city. About mid-August—just before her fifth grade year started—we found an old fixer-upper farm house in a little town called Lark Creek, about an hour away from Roanoke in Virginia. We hoped that the children in the country had been reared differently, that they'd be more kind to our eccentric literati of a daughter. Unfortunately, not many were. We didn't own a TV, and within the first week the other children found out and began teasing her for it. However, there was one person who was at the very least kind to Leslie…a boy in her class, who was even quieter and more reclusive than she was. She tried to make friends with him the very first day, but he apparently held some minute sort of grudge over her because she beat him in the first-day-of-school foot race. It turned out they lived across the road from our house. Leslie somehow managed to make him talk to her, and after a while they became best friends. They were inseparable all through elementary school and junior high. The first two years of high school were rocky; but by their junior year they managed to straddle their hormones and become friends again."

"Did they stay friends for long?"

"No. They weren't simply _friends_ for much longer after that. Can't say I was surprised, or upset, as most fathers would be. Both of them were seventeen by then, and both Judy and I had been expecting something like this from the first time we saw the two of them interact. The only difference was we expected it _sooner_!"

"What happened to them?"

"They dated until they were twenty-five and finished with college. Then, Jesse asked Les to marry him…"

"I said yes." The young Leslie had finished quietly, tears brimming in her eyes. "And we moved to a little house in Williamsburg, where I became a writer and Jess became the great art teacher I always knew he would be. We had one little girl, named Samantha, who looks like me except she has dark hair like Jess. You died when Samantha was seven, and then Jess and I died too, and now Samantha is living with Mom in our old house in Lark Creek. But Jess is still alive; he's fourteen, and he's still talking to his mother and sisters, and his Dad won't start smoking and drinking hard for another two years. The only thing that changed is that I died…"

He had stared at her, dumbstruck and terrified, until she had explained.

Her job as a Filer was to monitor and work with the Aura. As a Filer she would select the files, or life records, of certain people still alive on Earth. She would be able to watch what they were thinking and see what they were seeing, and, if she touched the liquid of the Aura, she would be able to communicate to the person with her voice and thoughts. Atticus used the Aura to send other Covalent demons down to Earth for the infiltration he planned. Demons would slowly take the place of humans until the entire planet was filled with them. Leslie had been rather frightened of her job, and had remained frightened, especially when the first person she was assigned to was none other than Jesse Aarons. She had no idea if Atticus understood the friendship the two had shared, and if he did, perhaps using Jess was a test of her compliance and strange loyalty.

But Leslie had no loyalty, to Atticus or to anyone other than her best friend. She chose to secretly defy her commands, communicating slyly with Jess to see how his life was going since her passing. It destroyed her to see that he hadn't appeared to move on; memories of her and their friendship were constantly looming in the back of his mind while in consciousness, and when asleep guilt pounded his dreams like a herd of stampeding elephants. Devastated, she tore herself away from him for a while, moving onto the next file as commanded, this one belonging to someone named Samantha Aarons.

Discovering Samantha was her ultimate downfall. As she watched the little girl she discovered the strange world in which she lived, one so accidental, one so very different from the world she had known. She grew to love and enjoy the child that was in a way her own daughter, pangs of longing reminding her that the brunette girl could never truly exist with her as she was, because she was dead, and while dead there was absolutely no way she could grow up, get married, and give birth to a baby. She began to feel a strange sense of jealousy towards her older alternate self, longing for the recollections of comfort and happiness with both Samantha and Jess. Her feelings of jealousy subsided for a brief moment as she contemplated why marrying her best friend didn't seem utterly repulsive and impossible.

Confused and irritated, she turned back to Samantha's world, only to find that both she and Jesse had died. She didn't know what to make of it; after all, she was already dead. But what did that mean for Jess?

Once more she abandoned the now grief-stricken world of Samantha Aarons and returned to the one to which she had belonged, relieved to find that everyone in Jess's family—naturally including him as well—were alright. Jess, however, was still emotionally detached and lonely, and no longer could Leslie contain herself. She spoke to him, telling him about Samantha and the dangers that would most likely follow.

She would watch the little girl from time to time, listening to her cry and reveling in how much she resembled Jesse on the inside. Nightmares began to plague her: Having a beautiful little baby, only to have her snatched away by a pair of icy claws the second the newly opened blue-green eyes stared Leslie in the face. The infant's vulnerable cries rang in her ears, begging her to help. And yet, she could do nothing. Frozen by shock and overcome by sadness, all she could seem to do was remain in the bed and weep as her innocent little daughter was tortured to death by evil demons with glistening blood red eyes.

Other times, the girl was older. She looked exactly like Samantha did, and every time she was crying.

"_My mother didn't love me!_" She would sob, reminding Leslie so much of the vulnerable infant girl being physically tormented by the demons. "_She didn't love me, she left me all alone!_"

Time and time again Leslie would try to put her arms around the girl and comfort her, assuring her that she was her mother, and she most certainly did love her, and she would never willingly leave her. But no matter how she tried, the sad motherless girl would not believe her. She shoved her away, yelling at her.

"_You're not my mother! The only one I'll ever let love me is my mother. She's not here, because _she_ doesn't love _me_, but maybe one day she'll come back and love me._"

The nightmares broke her heart, and sometimes at night she would wake Bill and ask him to tell stories about Samantha's world. Being the storyteller he was, he could retell every detail perfectly, and the tales would carry her away from the sadness for a while, comforting her fears until they both crawled back into their beds and Bill's snores began. The darkness of the cell would seem to swallow her heart, and she would lie still, curled in a ball, wondering why the happy recounts were never potent enough to pierce the dark feeling the dreams created.

As Bill watched her cry he remembered, feeling his own heart break at the pain she was showing.

"I can never win," She whispered brokenly, knees knocking together. "All I do is hurt him, over and over and over again!"

"Honey, that's not true…"

"Yes it is…!"

"How is that so, Leslie? How do you keep hurting a boy who loves you so much, that'd he'd willingly take whatever pain he had to just to be near you?"

"That's just _it_!" She wheezed, looking up at him with her wet eyes. "He shouldn't love me as much as he does. He shouldn't be missing me so much. It's been three years, he should be…"

"Should be what, Leslie? Should be disregarding your friendship, pretending you didn't exist, that it didn't break his heart when you died. Should he be _lying _to himself every damned day, telling himself that he doesn't look for you at every corner?"

"STOP THAT!" She screamed at him, getting up from the floor by the door where they were sitting and backing across the cell, sinking down on her bed.

"He hasn't done anything." She hissed tearfully through her teeth. "_I'm _the one at fault. _I'm _the one who can't let _him_ go, and yet _I'm _the one who's dead. It's _my _fault, because I'm selfish. I'm so selfish that I can't seem to bear leaving him alone. I can't seem to bear the thought of him being happy without me, moving on from my death and maybe forgetting that it hurt him as much as it did. If he forgets how much losing me hurt him, maybe he'll find a new best friend, one who he likes more than he liked me, and I won't be important anymore."

After a moment she laughed scornfully. "Look at me. What an idiot I am. Dead, and yet still so unbelievably human."

"Yes, you are." Bill agreed, getting up and slowly walking towards her. "Only because you're being forced to be."

"What do you mean?"

"They chose to bombard you with memories of the most important thing you lost after you died. Don't you see, Leslie? You being uncontrollably human is what they want. They want the overpowering emotions of grief and love you would sacrifice yourself for because it's what they don't have. They need those emotions to make the army feel like fighting for control of Earth. Bloodlust and evil can only carry one so far, and what keeps soldiers in battle fighting to the death is love for their family and their friends and their country. They don't have that, and so therefore they need us to give it to them."

Just then the cell door creaked open.

"Atticus has commanded us to leave the girl with you." One of the guards, swathed in black cloth like the others, spoke. Both Leslie and Bill turned to him. Leslie's eyes widened, and Bill motioned for her to stay silent. She bit her lip and complied, turning her face away so that the demons would not see the tears welling in her eyes.

Little Joyce Ann Aarons was unconscious, dangling between two demon guards, one arm being held by each beast. Her head was tilted back, her eyes shut, her little body already bruised from the experimental tests the demons did on all human's bodies before their souls were removed.

"Who is she?" Bill asked in a cool business like tone, rising from the bed and walking calmly towards the guards.

"Her name is Joyce Aarons. Atticus captured her this morning in a lake, using a memory of hers."

"I see. Do tell me, will she be left in her body as my cell mate and I have been?"

"She will remain in her body for now, yes." the guard's voice was beginning to sound suspicious. "She is very small; it is unlikely that her soul would come out of her body completely intact. Children have much naivety and innocence, two traits we cannot afford to waste. Any loss of her soul would be a large inconvenience for Atticus, and it would anger him greatly. The master does not want his plan disrupted."

Joyce Ann's body was then tossed carelessly onto the floor, flying easily through the air like a rag doll. She landed with a dull and lifeless thud by the foot of Leslie's bunk, curls flopping over her face. Leslie wanted nothing more than to jump up and throw her arms around her, to pull her into her chest and cradle her protectively, to snarl at the guards and do whatever possible to heal her best friend's sister. But she restrained herself, wrapping her fingers around the blanket and shoving her rear into the mattress. She kept her face blank until the guards locked the door and floated away, then jumping up and running to her side.

"Don't touch her." Bill advised quickly. "We don't want to cause any more damage."

Leslie retracted the hand that had been hovering over the child's ribs, staring at her in disbelief.

"The monsters." She whispered. "How _could_ they?" A tear ran down her nose and dripped onto Joyce's clothing. The little girl shuddered, but did not wake.

Bill walked away from the door and crouched beside Leslie, brushing the curls off of her ashen face. "Are you sure this is Jesse's Joyce Ann, my dear?"

"Positive. I saw her in his memory, and she looked just like that." She gently ran her fingertips over the reddish brown ringlets. "She's so big. Last I saw her in person she was a baby, maybe two. She's probably around five now, wouldn't you think?"

"I'm sure she'll tell us when she wakes up." He rose from his knees and looked around the tiny metal cage, feeling disheartened. "We don't have a bed for her. I could give you my bed, Leslie, and Joyce Ann could have yours…"

"Nonsense." Leslie spoke firmly, eyes still glued to the unconscious toddler on the floor. "You're not giving up your bed, Dad."

The name _Dad_ caught him off guard. Leslie hadn't called him that while they were in Covalent, in fact, she had never addressed him by any sort of name at all. It seemed that in that moment, she had gone from being the frail fourteen year old to the strong and independent woman he had watched grow up and start a family of her own.

"Where do you propose she'll sleep, then?"

"With me, in my bed. She won't take up much room, she's tiny. It'll keep her warmer, too. Shall I lie her down now?"

"No, as I said, we don't want to move her until she's conscious again, it may cause more injury. Check for anything serious, like a fractured spine, concussion, or broken bones, and if she's alright, leave her as she is and cover her with a blanket until she's coherent."

Leslie nodded, and began silently feeling along the back of her head, her neck, her back, and over all other limbs, searching for anything mildly wrong.

"I don't feel anything." She announced after a moment of careful prodding. "Do you want to check, Dad?"

"I trust your judgment, sweetheart. You were always better at noticing Samantha's illnesses than anyone else in the family."

She tore her gaze away from Joyce Ann for a moment to smile at him kindly, then rising and removing the threadbare coverlet from her bunk. She spread it over Joyce, tucking the fabric in around her curves. She patted her hair softly before turning away, surprised to see Bill smiling joyfully.

"It seems that your maternal instincts did not have to come with age, my dear, for you are treating Jesse's sister with as much delicacy and care as you ever treated your own little girl."

She found it easier to smile wider now. "I owe it to him." She replied softly, once more settling on the hard cold concrete floor by the door.

"Why sit there?"

"I don't want to startle her when she wakes up." With that she pulled her knees into her chest, draped her arms across them, and settled her chin on top. For hours she sat, watching and waiting.

And, at last, Joyce Ann stirred.


	30. Chapter 30: Coming to Terms

**Author's Note: **I realize that I have greatly muddled up the timeline in this story. After I complete the story I'll fix that in the revisions, but for now I will tell you where exactly the story is time wise. Using the idea that _Bridge to Terabithia _was filmed in spring of 2006 and Jess and Leslie were supposedly fifth graders, we'll say that they were both eleven the spring Leslie died. May Belle was most likely a first grader, so it would stand to reason she was six years old. As of right now, the story takes place in contemporary times—late May 2009—Jesse is fourteen, May Belle eight.

**Disclaimer: **I own no rights to _Bridge to Terabithia_, William Shakespeare's _Sonnet Ninety-Eight_, Pop-Tarts, the excerpt from Elizabeth Goudge's _The Little White Horse_, or the name 'Samantha Parkington'.

* * *

**Chapter 30:**

**Coming to Terms**

* * *

Samantha awoke early on Monday morning, bright light shining through her bedroom curtains and dancing in beautiful patterns along her cheeks. She rolled over onto her side; blinking sleepily and pulling the patchwork quilt up over her chin. For a while she lay in the dusky light, dusting the sleep induced fog from her brain and enjoying the warmth of the bed sheets on her toes.

As she became more coherent she noticed the way the light of the early morning danced upon the walls. Golden as fresh hay and so pure it seem to shine with a silvery glow, it illuminated the pattern of the curtains and cast their shadows on the walls of Samantha's bedroom. Curious, she climbed from her bed, jumping as her bare feet came in contact with the wooden floor, still chilled by the night.

Leaping like a rabbit towards the window, she knelt on the narrow bench she had snuggled beneath it to compensate for the window-seat she had owned back in Williamsburg. Throwing open the curtains, she marveled at the seemingly new world outside of her casement.

No longer did the sky hold any signs of rain; it was clear and vibrant blue. The fog that so often clung to the great hills behind the house had lifted, revealing rolling plains of velvety green. The sun blazed proudly in the sky, early morning pinkness clinging to its edges with fragility, reminding Samantha of a mound of peach sherbet ice cream. The sunshine played on the lawn below the windowpane, catching the remaining dewdrops that adorned the blades of grass and the glass, sending little rainbows cascading this way and that.

She reached up with excitement and clicked open the window latch. She tugged with a bit of effort, allowing it to release the pressure on its hinges for the first time after the long cold months.

Birds sang with clarity and pride, claiming their summer homes out in the open after spending time in the ground. No longer did they have to shield themselves from the icy winter by hiding in the clay; they could spread their wings once more and take to the sky where they belonged, gathering food and materials for the nests that would soon enough house the latest generation of young.

A gentle breeze blew through the window, bringing with it warmth and the rich smell of damp turf, slowly drying with the aid of the sun. The sweet air seemed to breathe life into everything, including Samantha herself. She closed her eyes and smiled as nature bathed her with its kind and firm hand. The scent of the early morning filled her nose, the pure air rushed down her throat, opening both her mind and her heart. Dewdrops flew up with the wind and kissed her lips with their gentle sweetness, reminding her to speak wisely. The sunshine swept warmly over her closed lids, allowing her to see things with newfound clarity. The songs of the birds rang with amazing palpability in her ears; making her feel as though she could stand on the sill and fly with the birds. The feeling of promise and new beginnings were personified in the sunshine, and as it seeped through her pajama top the happiness found its way into her heart, clearing out the majority of grief and longing.

A new era in her life had begun, she realized with sudden certainty. Time for bereavement was now done, discovery and contentment was in order. It felt as though her parents and Grandpa Bill were smiling down on her, watching always and guiding her when she swerved off course.

_It'll be alright_. The sun seemed to say as the pink disappeared and was replaced by full-fledged bright gold. _You've got something to do, and though you're not entirely sure what it is now, your Mom and Dad taught you well enough that when you get there you'll do the right thing without hesitation. _

Confidence burst forward from her as she stared at the untouched morning world, feeling as though her mother had just put her arms around her shoulders. The breeze blew a bit stronger, the sound echoing through the hills reminding her of something her parents had always said.

"_Nothing Crushes Us!_"

"And nothing will crush me, either." She announced with authority before shutting the window and preparing herself for school.

Samantha was dressed and ready fifteen minutes later, bouncing down the stairs with an excitement that was mildly baffling even to her. She found her grandmother in the kitchen, moving around like a busy bee.

"Good morning Grandma." She said brightly, skipping up to her and hugging her tightly around the waist.

Judy let out a little chuckle of pleasant surprise before wrapping an arm around her granddaughter's shoulders and returning the gesture.

"My good gracious," She said once Samantha had released her. "You certainly are in a jovial mood today, Miss Sam." She paused for a moment, noticing the red T-shirt and over-alls she was wearing. "Perhaps you've come down with a case of summer fever?"

Smiling widely, she nodded. "'From you have I been absent in the spring. When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim hath put a spirit of youth in everything, that heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell of different flowers in odor and in hue, could make me any summer's story tell, or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, nor praise the deep vermillion of the rose; they were but sweet, but figures of delight, drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet it seemed winter still, and you away, as with your shadow I with these did play.'"

Judy raised her eyebrows. "Sonnet ninety-eight. Impressive, Sam. However, that particular poem doesn't give the impression of spring fever!"

"I suppose you're right, Grandma." Samantha agreed after a brief moment of intense contemplation. "I think what made me remember it was the descriptions of the flowers. I don't feel like the man in the sonnet at all. _My _spring and summer will not be clouded by feelings of loneliness and loss."

She said it with such honesty and assurance that Judy could not see any other option than to believe her. She smiled at her warmly.

"You've made my day by saying that, dearie." Judy patted her cheek affectionately, brushing a lock of hair that had fallen out of the ponytail away. She then hurriedly returned to her work, scribbling a list down in a notebook and rummaging through the kitchen cabinets.

"Is something wrong Grandma?" Samantha asked cautiously as she watched her grandmother bustle about. She pulled a strawberry Pop-Tart from one of the drawers and plopped it in the toaster, avoiding Judy's quick moving feet as she went to the refrigerator. She removed an apple and bit into it, then quickly spitting the piece she had bit off into the sink. It was a bit mushy and bitter, a sure sign, Samantha noted, that fall was over and summer was upon them. Throwing the fruit away she once more returned to the fridge, this time extracting some milk. She poured the cold, creamy drink into a juice glass and took a sip, all the while watching her grandma.

"Grandma Judy, is something wrong?" She repeated again, feeling a bit anxious as she went to retrieve the hot toaster pastry. This time Judy heard her, and slowed down enough to smile and explain.

"No honey, nothing's wrong. I'm just feeling a bit pressed for time. See, your uncle Cletus is due to arrive next week…"

"I didn't know I had an uncle Cletus." Samantha interrupted as she swallowed her first bite of Pop-Tart. "Mom and Dad never mentioned him."

"Well, that's because he isn't your immediate uncle, sweetie. Cletus Burke is actually your great-uncle; he was your grandfather's older brother. Your mother and I never saw much of Cletus; he liked to travel to many exotic places. He didn't keep up good contact with your grandpa either, they hadn't spoken for several years until their older sister Amelia died when your Mom was a junior in high school. Amelia was the oldest of the Burke kids, and both Grandpa Bill and Cletus loved her more than anything. Their parents didn't pay them much mind when they were younger, and it seems that Amelia stood in as a motherly figure for her brothers. But then they grew up; Cletus joined the military and began traveling, Amelia became a Broadway actress, and your grandfather went to college, became a writer and married me. Leslie hadn't even met Cletus until Amelia died, and by that time she was just beginning to move into her non-platonic relationship with your Daddy. But, as I was saying, he's due for a visit next week, and her possess a habit that causes him to always show up early for visits and other social engagements. One never knows with him: sometimes he's early by a few hours, other times he's early by _days_!"

They did their respective things in silence for a while, Samantha nibbling her breakfast and Judy preparing for her brother-in-law. The quiet was broken, however, as Judy studied the calendar.

"Why, it seems I have another thing to prepare for!"

"What is it?"

"Oh, Samantha, like you don't know, my dear! I know you're just trying to take care of your old sad grandma, but you're not pulling that one on me like your Mom did a few times when she was young. I'm ashamed to admit I went along with it, and I'm not about to do the same with you, my almost-grown-up little beauty!"

Something then clicked in Samantha's mind too. "_Oh_." She said slowly, piecing things together. The new, warm weather meant that summer was on its way, and with summer also came her birthday.

"June nineteenth. Right. My birthday."

"Hard to believe you'll be nine years old. I remember the day after you were born, and I went with grandpa to visit you and your Mama in the hospital. You were so beautiful…like a little angel. You looked up at us with those pretty eyes of yours and at that moment I loved you just as much as I had loved Leslie when she was born. 'The image of her mother.' your grandfather said proudly. 'Not quite Dad.' Leslie told us, smiling all the while. Then she pulled the pink blanket off your head and showed us the dark brown fuzz," Judy tugged the end of Samantha's ponytail affectionately. "And said: 'She's got some of her Daddy in her too.' Your father replied that he was perfectly happy having you be as much like your mother as possible. We all smiled, except for maybe your Mama, who said that 'Miss Sam is going to be whoever Miss Sam is supposed to be. I don't want her to be another me. Her name is Samantha Lydia, not Leslie Sophia. Jess and I learned a long time ago that children are not their parents, and we intend to teach Sam as soon as we can that we want her to be herself, not a carbon copy of us.' Then they shared this sort of secret smile and talked to each other with their eyes like they'd been doing since they were little…I never quite understood the bond the two of them had."

Silence once more settled over the kitchen. Samantha fought against the pains that wanted to snake their way into her chest, reminding herself of the revelation she had experienced prior to breakfast.

Both of them stayed quiet until sounds of school bus could be heard on the road. Samantha bid Judy a cheery goodbye before shoving the remaining crusts of Pop-Tart into her mouth and downing the rest of her milk. Snatching her backpack up off the floor by her chair she dashed down the hall, the front door slamming behind.

She rushed down the dirt road to the bus, climbing the steps speedily.

"Good morning, Ernie." She said quietly, smiling at the old bus driver.

"Morning, Samantha." Ernie smiled before chiding her. "In the future, Miss Parkington, I'd like you to know that I try to keep all pit stops under ten seconds. Today it took you fifteen seconds."

"I'll be faster tomorrow." She promised sweetly, looking down the bus isle. She saw an open seat about three or four rows down, next to a girl with a blonde French braid and her forehead pressed against the window. Taking a deep breath and telling herself to be brave, she walked serenely over to the seat.

"Hello." She said, a bit tentatively. Blonde girl looked surprised.

"Hi." She said shyly.

"May I sit here?"

Before the shy girl could answer, another person spoke.

"Did anyone else come on the bus after you?" Someone asked from the bench behind blonde girl. Samantha turned to see a familiar looking red haired girl sitting next to a boy with black curly hair and dark eyes.

"Um, no. Should I be telling Ernie to wait for someone?"

"Oh…no." The red headed girl looked disappointed. The boy closed his eyes and sighed sadly.

Feeling as though she was poking her nose into something private, Samantha returned her attention to the girl with the French braid.

"May I sit here?" She asked again. Blonde girl nodded and scooted her backpack under her feet. Samantha smiled gratefully before sliding in beside her.

"My name is Samantha." She told the girl politely after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Bailee Jefferson." Blonde girl—Bailee—answered quietly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bailee. Aren't you is Ms. Gulliver's class? I think I've seen you before."

"We all are in Ms. Gulliver's class, yes."

The _we_ stunned Samantha for a moment, then realizing that the boy and girl on the bench behind her were classmates too—at the moment she could not remember their names, though she had heard them—and were most likely friends of Bailee's.

"Oh. Hello, I don't believe I've properly introduced myself to you two either," She turned around and smiled brightly at the morose looking pair behind her. "My name is Samantha Parkington."

"I'm Alexandra Edison," The red haired girl—who Samantha now recognized as the girl she had sat behind for her first week in class—said. "And this is my friend Timmy."

"I'm perfectly capable of introducing myself, Alexandra." Timmy snapped irritably.

"Now Timmy," Bailee turned around and looked sadly at him, "Don't go yelling at Allie just because May's not here for you to argue with like usual."

"Way to bring it up, Bailee." Alexandra muttered under her breath. Bailee's eyes flashed dejectedly before she looked down at the back of the bus seat and slid back into her own seat, glancing sideways at Samantha, and then fixating her gaze on a wad of dried gum in the corner by the back of the empty bench in front of them.

Samantha once again felt as though she was imposing upon a friends-only conversation and looked a different way as well: to her left, across the aisle, out the partially open windows at the oak trees and telephone poles whizzing by.

"Can't say I was expecting her to come." Alexandra said.

_Expecting who to come? _Samantha wondered to herself. Normally she would've asked, but the way she was talking it felt to her as though she was addressing Timmy and Bailee only, and she was discussing the private thing that apparently had all three of them is distress.

"Who would? After yesterday…I still can't believe that Joycie's _gone_. Like, forever and ever gone." This was Bailee, who sounded like she might cry. Samantha's spine stiffened a bit and she slowly reached for her backpack, deciding to distract herself from the extremely personal and depressing conversation by reading.

"Well, when someone dies it means that they're forever and ever gone, Bailee." Timmy said this dully, like he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole in the ground and never come out.

"_Timmy!_" Alexandra hissed in disbelief.

"What?" He asked quietly, not understanding.

"Um…" Alexandra raised her eyebrows and bobbed her head in Samantha's direction.

"Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh._"

The sad trio stayed quiet for a while after that, allowing Samantha to focus on her book.

"'_You are not to jug Serena.' Maria said firmly. 'My dear, I would not dream of jugging Serena.' Sir Benjamin replied, most humbly indeed, and as he looked at Serena, he also saw Maria in a new light. His young ward, he realized, would not need much managing. She was more likely to manage him…"_

"I guess Mrs. Carter isn't making Billy-Jean come to school either."

Bailee's quiet voice drew Samantha away from Moonacre Manor and The Men from the Dark Woods and once again got her pondering the private conversation.

Samantha looked out the window to see them passing a tiny green house without stopping.

"Joyce Ann was Billy-Jean's best friend." Timmy said, "And now Joyce Ann's dead…I'm sure Billy-Jean doesn't want to go to school."

"_Timmy…_" Alexandra hissed again. "_Stop that_."

"Oh. Right, sorry."

"Poor May," Bailee murmured sadly. "She must feel awful. They _all _must feel awful."

"Jesse especially." Alexandra whispered this like she didn't want anyone, not even her friends, to hear her. Timmy, however, did.

"Why Jess especially?"

Alexandra sighed. "You know how yesterday at the lake, May Belle didn't want Joyce going in the water with Timmy?"

"Yeah…" Both of her friends said unanimously. Samantha remained quiet; it seemed as though they had forgotten she was there.

"And you know how Joyce Ann asked why May and Jess were so terrified of her going in the water, and May wouldn't give her a definite answer?"

"Uh huh…"

"And Joyce Ann said that she wanted to prove to May and Jesse that she wasn't going to get hurt every time she went in the water and that everyone needed to stop thinking of her as a baby? And May Belle said: 'It's not that we think you're a baby! It's because of Leslie!'"

"I asked who Leslie was." Timmy recalled.

"And Joyce asked what she had to do with swimming." Bailee added.

"And May said it was nothing…so we all turned to you…" Timmy was fishing.

"And you said she was an old neighbor of the Aarons' that moved away when Joyce was a baby." Bailee finished.

"I never said she moved away."

"But, she must've. You said she was an old neighbor of the Aarons', and she doesn't live there anymore…" Bailee sounded confused.

"Mr. and Mrs. Burke moved away," Alexandra's voice was so low that it was barely audible. "But _Leslie_ never did."

"Who moves away without their daughter?" Timmy asked in disbelief, sounding mortified.

_Perhaps_, Samantha thought, _He's afraid that his parents will move away without him._

"They move away without their daughter when she's dead, Timmy."

"_What?!?!_" Bailee and Timmy shrieked.

"Leslie drowned three years ago," Alexandra continued. "Didn't you hear? It was all over the local newspapers and TV stations."

Her friends shook their heads. Samantha felt her entire body go numb; her spine pressed ram-rod straight into the back of the bench, and her ears went into hyper-alert.

"She was trying to swing on this rope across the creek that ran behind the Aarons' house. She and Jess used to go to the creek and swing across to the woods on the other side. May Belle and I tried to follow them once, but they went over without seeing us, and even using the long stick that they did to reach the rope we couldn't get it. They went back there every day after school…we could never figure out what they did. But one day, a Saturday, Leslie decided to go by herself when Jess wasn't home. The rope broke, and she fell and hit her head. It crushed Jess; May said it was almost like when Leslie died, he died too."

"So _that's _why." Bailee breathed in understanding.

"He was so afraid that the same thing that happened to Leslie Burke was going to happen to Joyce Ann or May. And turns out he was right." Timmy shook his head.

The bus screeched to a stop, and Alexandra, Timmy and all the other students rose to leave. Samantha got up too, but only to let Bailee out. As soon as the children exited the bus, Samantha said down on the edge of the bus seat with a thud, feeling dizzy, disoriented and terrified. Her ears were buzzing, she couldn't think straight. All she could remember was the previous day, at the picnic:

Falling asleep and the strange dream.

Waking to the sounds of screaming and commotion by the water, and Grandma Judy talking to Pastor King quietly about what was going on.

And then they had left before she had the time to ask a single question.

She suddenly felt clammy; her tongue had no saliva on it.

"Miss Samantha, are you okay?" Ernie's voice sounded muddled and distant, like her head was underwater. Timmy's last words rang in her head like a warning siren, blocking everything else out.

"_He was so afraid that the same thing that happened to Leslie Burke was going to happen to Joyce Ann or May. And turns out he was right."_

Blood seemed to pound in her temples, blotches appeared in her vision.

"_Ohhh…" _She moaned, feeling the bitter taste of bile spill into her parched mouth.

"Samantha?" Ernie sounded genuinely concerned, but she couldn't seem to find the part of her brain that controlled her mouth so that she could tell him she was okay. There was too much darkness in her head to find _anything_.

"_Uh…_" She croaked weakly. The darkness in her head was growing stronger.

"Samantha?" Ernie laid a hand on her shoulder. "Samantha, can you hear me? Say something sweetie."

She felt her eyes close, and her lips grow hot. Her throat burned, and her temples throbbed, and she wanted nothing more than to go into the darkness and to wake up and find that the whole conversation regarding Leslie Burke had been nothing but a dream.

"_Samantha?!_" Ernie's voice was urgent and worried, but she could not answer. She didn't care about answering. All she wanted was for everything to go away and leave her alone.

Timmy's words rang in her head again and again.

"_He was so afraid that the same thing that happened to Leslie Burke was going to happen to Joyce Ann or May. And turns out he was right."_

No, he was _not_ right! He couldn't be right. Because if he was, that meant that everything she had heard in her dream yesterday afternoon was true. And that just didn't seem right. Things like that only happened in books, not in real life!

Pain shot through her skull and the darkness won, dragging her into a cool quiet. Before she lost complete consciousness, one last thought slid into her brain.

_It couldn't be true. Could it?_


	31. Chapter 31: Joyce Ann's Story

**Disclaimer: **I claim no rights to the characters of _Bridge to Terabithia _or anything related to it. The name 'Samantha Parkington' is also not mine. I will, however, claim Atticus and the Covalent demons. No profit is being made from this story.

* * *

**Chapter 31:**

**Joyce Ann's Story**

* * *

Joyce Ann stirred against the cold concrete floor, pudgy legs getting tangled in the moth eaten coverlet that Leslie had draped over her to keep the chill of the damp cell away. Her head hurt, and from the moment coherence found her she felt fear grip her little heart, remembering the frightening voice that had drug the air away from her lungs. What if the monster was there waiting for her when she opened her eyes?

"Leslie, Leslie!"

The voice was definitely a man's, but it wasn't scary, like the voice that had taken her away. It sounded older, kind and wise, like her grandfather's had. He was whispering excitedly. Joyce Ann wondered what had him in such a good mood.

"Is something wrong?"

The other voice was much younger than the first, and female. She sounded tired, like she had just awoken from a slumber.

"I think she's waking up!" The male voice hissed, still excited.

"Back away, Dad. We don't want to scare her, remember?"

"Oh, right, right." Man whispered eagerly, and his footsteps shuffled quietly along the floor.

Joyce Ann listened to the sounds of the cell intently, now more awake. All she could hear was two sets of even breathing, obviously the father-and-daughter pair she had heard speaking a few moments ago. She was aware that the surface she was laying on was hard and icy cold. Someone, it seemed, had tried to compensate for the obvious discomfort by covering her body with something that Joyce guessed was a blanket or sheet. However, it wasn't very soft; the smelly fabric reeked of urine and blood and scratched like burlap where it came in contact with her skin. Frozen, putrid smelling air wafted all around her, filling her nose with the scent of stale water, moth balls, kerosene, dried sweat, and the cruor and piss mixture. She tried hard not to gag as her head swam with the nauseating odors, making her ears ring and her temples throb.

It seemed that the pain in her head had dissipated a bit, but in the act it had caused whatever aches had left her skull to travel to the rest of her body. Her limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, and every bit of skin stung, reminding her of the time the neighbor's cat had scratched her arm when she tried to pet one of her kittens. A wet, sticky heat seemed to originate from her back, but she was too weary to care.

"Why are you so interested in her all of a sudden?" Girl asked quietly.

"She's from another dimension." Man whispered back. "She knows a completely different life: one I've never seen."

"I've seen it," Girl seemed to be reminding him of this. "I've _lived_ it. This is my Joycie, not the one you told me about. This is how she's _supposed _to be. Sweet, innocent."

"And that is how she'll remain, since she'll no longer have the chance to be Mary Aarons' pushover. Keep in mind my dear: the world I lived in is no different than yours. Had you survived death, had Jesse been with you, Joyce would've grown to be the spineless ignoramus I told you of."

"She's not like that." Girl said furiously. "_She's not_."

"She's not like that now," Girl's father agreed. "But that's what she would've become."

Joyce Ann felt fear spasm through her back. The thin coverlet suddenly seemed like evil, binding ropes, and terror swelled in her dry throat, causing it to crack as she choked on her saliva. She thrashed about until she was on her hands and knees, being strangled by her own spit and the sickening smells around her.

"Water!" She managed to choke out, forgetting her fear of the voices for a moment as the remaining salt and brine from the lake started a fire in her throat. "Water!"

The pain and heat in her back multiplied as retched about, feeling her wrists tremble with fatigue as she supported her full body weight.

"_Water_!" She screamed out, falling to her stomach. She rolled on to her back, convulsing with coughs. The bitter air only made her throat burn more, and even her nostrils stung, the suddenly over-powering smell of blood and pee making her spine arch, pushing her stomach towards the ceiling as her body formed into a bridge shape with the desire to vomit. Hot bile spewed into her mouth, and again she gagged, some of it making its way out through her desiccated lips and spilling down her cheek, chin and neck.

She rolled about on her back wildly, reminding Leslie of a roly-poly bug knocked from its feet. She ran to Joyce's side, looking worriedly into the wide eyes that opened and shut with each spasm.

"Tell me what to do!" She cried in panic, sliding to her knees and placing a hand on her heaving rib cage.

"Get away from her, first of all," Bill commanded from afar. "Most of this is fear. Once she calms down, give her some water. That should help her."

Leslie obeyed immediately, crawling speedily across the cell towards the door, where she grabbed the rusty handle of a tin mug, a bit of water from her last meal remaining in the bottom. She waited anxiously for the seizures to stop, heart breaking as the little girl withered in pain and fear on the floor, flopping about like a fish out of water.

"Water," Joyce gagged as large gulps of air rushed feverishly into her lungs. "Water, please."

Leslie advanced on her hands and knees slowly, the cup clanging gently on the floor, warning Joyce Ann of her approach. At first she tensed with fear, not believing that anyone would comply with her wishes. But as Leslie came closer sounds of liquid sloshing could be heard and she forced herself to remain still, though her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Whoever this was had water, and at the moment, that was all that mattered.

Leslie sat the mug near her head and then scampered quickly towards the front of the cell again, watching curiously. Joyce turned onto her side, reaching for the cup. She pushed herself up into a half sitting position, bringing the rusty cup to her lips. She sipped cautiously, wondering now if it was poison. But the drink that rushed into her mouth was most definitely water; though it was warm and tasted faintly of chlorine. After the hesitant first drink she threw her head back and chugged, allowing the bitter liquid to ease the pain in her throat and calm her nerves. Saliva became a part of her again, and she felt her breathing ease.

All too soon it was gone. As she stopped drinking her chest began to heave as she breathed fully and steady, enjoying the wetness that clung to her lips and dripped down the walls of her gullet.

Joyce Ann pushed herself into a full sitting position, allowing the now empty cup to clatter to the floor with a hollow _clang_. She looked around the smelly room, a bit curious despite the initial fear.

She seemed to be in a large cube made of concrete. The floor, back wall, and the two side walls were made of the smooth, unforgiving material, the cold almost radiating from them. The front of the room was made of rusty bars, with a large mail-slot looking opening in the center, with no handle on the inside. It was a cell, she realized. She seemed to be sitting in the back of the room, near a bunk bed that was as rusty as the bars. A rickety wooden bench ran along the right wall, a rusted galvanized bucket tucked beneath it. The only light seemed to be coming from the industrial fluorescence that lit the hallway outside. It did not penetrate the entire cell, so only the very front of the little room and half of the bench was illuminated. The bench and the bed were the only furniture pieces in the room; the rest of it was bare and hollow.

"Hello," Said the feminine voice slowly. Joyce Ann gave a start, and looked around for the voice.

It belonged to a girl looking to be about fifteen years old, dressed in a tattered and dirty white cotton dress that resembled a Grecian toga more than an actual item of clothing. Her feet were bare, callused and dirty, and her hands were thin and red from work. Her hair was long, nearly reaching her waist. Snarls wove through it, grease shining in the light. Her face was pale and cut up, dark circles rimmed her eyes. But she was still pretty, despite this, Joyce Ann decided. She had a natural beauty to her; one that Joyce's older sisters would've surely envied. Her hair was a pale corn silk and her eyes were a lovely shade of blue-green, reminding Joyce of the stained glass windows at church. Kindness and concern radiated from the uniquely colored irises, and the little girl decided on the spot to trust her, whoever she was.

"Hello," Joyce Ann repeated the greeting quietly, reminding herself not to be afraid of the blonde haired girl. She seemed like someone she could trust; she looked familiar, even. The shape of her face, the length of her hair, the kindness in her eyes…

"My name is Leslie Burke," Said the girl—Leslie. "And this is my father, Bill."

Joyce automatically turned her head towards the man Leslie gestured to. He was elderly, maybe in his mid sixties. Like his daughter, his face was pale and his eyes were sunken, he looked tired and overworked. The clothes clung to his wrinkly skin sadly, reminding Joyce of a homeless man she had seen on the side of the highway when driving through Roanoke with her mother. But unlike the homeless man, Bill Burke did not strike the little girl as frightening. There was something about the way his bald head shown in the light, the bushy white goatee and thick eyebrows that seemed grandfatherly, like his voice had. He would be a good grandpa, who would love his grandchildren very much, and would do more than just smoke a pipe and yell at the newscasters on TV like her grandfather did.

Leslie and Bill didn't really look alike, other than the tattered garments and pale complexions. Bill's eyes were an amber brown that shown with a soft, intelligent acceptance behind half-moon glasses that were partially cracked in one lens. No, they didn't look alike, but the goodness and familiarity overwhelmed Joyce Ann, so much so that she felt like rising and giving them both giant hugs for their unspoken kindness to her. She tried, but a hot pain shot across her back, and suddenly there did not seem to be enough skin to cover her spine. She fell back onto the concrete, a little moan of pain sliding through her lips.

"Leslie?" She whispered her name fearfully, feeling as though the maternal face might disappear.

"Yes?" Leslie was moving towards her in an instant, staring down at her kindly.

"My back hurts, and I smell like pee. Is something wrong with me?"

"Let me…oh, my…" Leslie drew in a shocked breath. "The _beasts_, torturing her like this…"

Joyce Ann's back was completely sliced open, oozing hot blood. Some of the incisions were rimmed in pale silver; dried venom from the demon's claws. The skin was pale from the trauma, bruised a deep violet where the blood hadn't reached. The same purple blemishes covered the insides of her arms, taking up so much space that it looked as though someone had colored them in with an eggplant colored Magic Marker. The beatings had obviously caused her to lose control of her bladder. Urine trickled down the insides of her legs, hot and fetid smelling.

"Joyce," Bill whispered calmly, edging towards the wounded child.

"Yes, Mr. Burke?"

Bill smiled at the girl's manners. Clearly, at this young age, Joyce Ann Aarons had been as polite as Jesse.

"Oh, no need to call me Mr. Burke, my dear. Bill will suit just fine. It is my name after all. Unless, of course, you'd like me to call you Miss Aarons…"

"Wait a minute," Joyce paused. "How did you know my name? I didn't tell you."

Leslie shot her father a dark glare. Now they'd have to explain.

"Well, Joyce, it's rather hard to explain…" Bill began falteringly, only to be cut off by the child again.

"I know why you seem so familiar, Leslie." She whispered in breathy astonishment.

"Why's that?" Leslie fought to keep her tone even, and had Joyce Ann been older, she would've noticed the fear in the blonde girl's eyes.

"When I fell in the lake, I had a memory of a story my older brother told me once. It was during a thunderstorm, and May Belle…"

"Your sister?" Leslie found it easy to play along as if she had no idea who May Belle Aarons was. As if she didn't know Joyce's older brother better than anyone in the world…

"Yes, May is my sister. We were afraid of the storm, cause Daddy wasn't home, and it was late at night. I wanted to go wake Mamma, but Jess…"

"Your brother." Her voice was hollow, dry. Again, Joyce Ann didn't notice. She was too busy piecing a puzzle together.

"Uh-huh. Well, Jess said that we shouldn't bother Mamma so late at night, and that he would tell us a little story that an old friend of his had told once."

"Do you remember the story, Joycie? Can you tell me?" Leslie felt tears building in her eyes again; and at the moment she couldn't figure out why she felt like climbing into bed and sobbing.

"Lemme think…um…I am moving gently forward, through a wild and…I can't remember the rest."

"That's enough, honey. I know which story your brother told you." A few tears trickled freely now, but in the darkness of the cell Joyce could not see them.

_Jess, why can't you let me go? Not that I want you to forget me, Lord no. That'd break my heart. But…remembering me _this _much…you shouldn't need _me_ after all this time. Terabithia should be enough, I should be fading…then again, things that should be happening for the both of us aren't._ I_ shouldn't need _you_ as much as I do, either. I guess that's another way we're alike…_

"But while I was in the water, it went from a memory of him saying it to another voice, one that sounded _exactly like you_. And then…the story went away. And…another voice came. And he told me all about you, and how your name was Leslie Burke. And that you had died, and that Jess was right in thinking that it was his fault you had died…which doesn't really make any sense. But that reminded me of something that May Belle told me before I fell."

"What was that?" Leslie's voice was barely above a whisper, and she was well aware that her hands were trembling.

"I asked her why everyone got so nervous when I went around water, especially her and Jess. She wouldn't tell me, so I yelled at her. I told her that I needed to prove to everyone that I wasn't a baby, and that I wasn't going to die if I went near water. And then she told me something that I don't think she meant to tell me. 'It's not because we think you're a baby!' she said. 'It's because of Leslie!' I asked who Leslie was, and what she had to do with me swimming, and May Belle wouldn't tell me. So I went, and I fell, just like May said I would. But the voice…it told me that Jess was too scared and sad to tell me about Leslie Burke, because he loved her somethin' awful, and it was his fault that she died because he chose to spend the day with a music teacher instead of her, and that it just hurt him too much to remember her."

Joyce Ann stopped talking for a moment, thinking hard. "That doesn't make any sense though, really." She whispered. "Because sometimes at night, he'd wake up cryin' and screaming for someone named Leslie to forgive him, and May Belle would cry too, and then Daddy would go in with him and Mamma would take me outta the room and make me go sleep on the floor in my older sisters' bedroom. I'd ask Mamma if he was okay, and she would say: 'Of course baby, it's just a bad dream. Now go get the sleeping bag out of Brenda's closet and lay it on the floor and go to bed. Your brother will be fine in the morning, he always is.' but she never sounded like she actually believed it. And while I was in Brenda's closet Mamma would wake her and Ellie and say: 'Jesse's having that dream again; Joycie's in hear with you two for the night. I don't want a damn peep about the Burke girl, alright?' they would say alright, and Mamma would leave. Ellie and Brenda must have known exactly what Mamma meant, because they'd be nice to me. Ellie would help me get settled on the floor and Brenda would offer to get me a glass of water, and after I was all settled they would turn out the light and lie real quiet until they thought I was asleep. And then they'd start talking. 'If Dad had the money, he'd send him to a shrink.' Ellie would whisper. 'That girl is going to be the death of him, you know.' Brenda would say. Ellie would say 'Shh, we promised Mom.' and then they'd both fall asleep, and I'd lie awake wondering who the Burke girl was. And now…now I'm thinking the Burke girl is _you_, Leslie."

Leslie couldn't answer her. The tears were falling too fast; she abandoned the girl on the floor and climbed up the rusty ladder to Bill's bed. She lay down and cried into the pillow, unable to stop the confusing emotions that were swirling around inside her.

"What did I do?" Joyce Ann cried out in dismay, bewildered and angry that she had hurt the kind older girl.

"_You _didn't do anything, dearie." Bill rubbed her shoulder distractedly, watching Leslie huddle on the bed. "But your story forced her to come to terms with something she would've been much happier ignoring."

"What's that?"

"Your brother loves her just as much as she loves him."

"Why's that bad?"

"Because. She didn't realize how much she loved him until after she died. And now, knowing that he can't let her go makes her both happy and sad, because she doesn't want to be forgotten, but she doesn't want him to be in agony over her either."

"Poor Leslie." Joyce Ann whispered.

"Yes. Poor Leslie indeed."


End file.
